Shadows of Angels
by Nutzkie
Summary: Kim discovers a dark secret in Ron's background.  How will it effect their new relationship?
1. Marching Orders

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter One**

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt was famous for saying that "we have nothing to fear but fear itself."

F.D.R. never met Steve Barkin…

The Middleton High School Vice-Principal was a living example of the fact that there's no such thing as a former marine. Inactive…yeah. Retired…maybe. …But _former_? Not on your life, _maggot_!

Furthermore, any individual so foolish as to challenge this concept in his presence would quickly find himself on the receiving end of a dressing-down so intense, it would have left the likes of George Patton quaking in his combat boots.

That isn't to say, however, that he couldn't intimidate the snot out of someone in a host of other ways as well. At six-foot-three and 250 pounds, the man was built like a Sherman tank. He was barrel-chested with arms like tree trunks, and couldn't have had more than two percent body fat. The going rumor around school was that he once actually slammed a revolving door. Others said that he had died two years prior, but the Grim Reaper hadn't gotten up the guts to tell him yet.

None of this was lost on the group of twenty-some-odd students who were seated facing him at this particular moment, their skittish eyes darting about the room, trying desperately not to make contact with his. Barkin smiled inwardly, (he NEVER did so outwardly), confident that he hadn't lost his "touch."

"ALLRIGHT, LISTEN UP!!!" he finally bellowed, causing two-dozen bodies to instantly stiffen in unison. The sudden jarring of desks on the tile floor shook the oversized windows. Assured that he now had their undivided attention, he allowed himself to continue.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, a large part of the social studies curriculum at this school involves the study of 'cultural diversity,' and other touchy-feely disciplines."

When the good Lord had been handing out tact, Steve Barkin had obviously been stuck in the "muscles" line.

"To that end, today marks the start of your personal history projects. A review, if you will, of the various cultural and family backgrounds which make up the student body here at Middleton High."

With this news, the class perked up. The personal history projects were a long-standing tradition at the school, and were well-known as one of the few parts of the advanced social-studies class that weren't boring enough to kill an Amazonian tree sloth.

"However," Barkin continued, eliciting a collective sigh from the class. While the projects were well-known for being fun, Barkin was equally well-known for his uncanny ability to drain the fun out of everything he touched. (Some people said that he once straightened a slinky just by looking at it.) His sudden use of that word could only mean that he was up to his old tricks once again. 

"This year, we'll be doing it with a _twist._" He emphasized the last word to drive his point home. "Whereas in past years, students have done their projects on their own families, this year you will be doing them on _each other's_ families."

Two-dozen pairs of eyes blinked erratically. Forget about this not being fun anymore. Things had just slid from "fun," all the way to "mortifying."

As Barkin paused dramatically to let this sink in, a meek voice spoke up from the far back of the room.

"Uh, Mister Barkin… How do we… ya' know… like, decide who we're reporting on?"

Barkin's eyes narrowed, as he scanned the back ranks of desks. He knew the voice well, and it seemed to everyone in the school that he took great pleasure in heaping torment upon its unfortunate owner.

"_You_ don't decide _anything,_ Stoppable!" Barkin bellowed. "_I_ decide who you report on!"

An unruly mop of blonde hair tried its best to hide behind the students seated in front of it.

"Anyway," Barkin said, returning to his speech. "What I have done is to put all of your names into this hat." As he said this, he pulled a steel G.I. helmet from the bottom drawer of his desk. "I'll read through the roll book, drawing one name from the hat for each name on the list. This person will be your subject. If your own name is drawn, then a re-draw will be performed immediately. If you don't like your subject, _tough! _Fate has rendered its decision." Without allowing an opportunity for anyone to object, he quickly pulled out the roll book and began to read-off names in alphabetical order.

The selection process went along smoothly, as no one ever dared be disruptive in one of Barkin's classes. Names were chosen, and were greeted with reactions ranging from gleeful, to giddy, to indifferent, to sullen, to borderline-homicidal. Maybe this project could turn out to be somewhat entertaining after all?

"_Possible!"_ Barkin called out, as his trademark efficiency meant he was already to the middle of the alphabet by that point.

The Middleton High School head cheerleader responded enthusiastically. "Ready!" she chimed.

Barkin reached deep into the helmet and quickly withdrew a scrap of paper. "Your subject-matter is… Ronald Stoppable."

Kim's eyes shot open as wide as dinner plates, and the lead in her mechanical pencil snapped. Granted, the nature of this process meant that nothing could really be "expected," but of all the possibilities, this was certainly the _least_ expected.

She glanced uneasily over her shoulder at her topic, who replied with a sheepish smile and a weak, five-finger wave.

It wasn't like this should be any reason to be uncomfortable. The two of them had been "going together" now since their junior prom earlier in the year, but that didn't even begin to tell the full story. In reality, they'd been nearly inseparable since the age of four, and as with most people who have known each other for that long, there were few, if any, secrets between them.

Still, the concept of one being the subject of the other's class project was leaning just a little bit toward the awk-weird side of things.

Awkweirdness aside, however, Mr. Barkin had made it clear that the decision of the helmet was final. She had her subject and nothing was going to change that.

The remainder of the class went off without a hitch… Well, except for that one moment when both Kim and Ron nearly fainted. By some strange quirk of fate, Ron was assigned the task of reporting on Bonnie Rockwaller. The leggy brunette had been a thorn in both their sides since middle school, constantly assaulting Ron with a never-ending barrage of insults, put-downs and snide remarks. Her antics had become so commonplace that Ron now scarcely seemed to notice when Bonnie launched into one of her patented verbal attacks. Bonnie was also Kim's chief rival on the cheer squad, yearbook committee, and a laundry list of other extra-curricular activities.

Both of them quickly realized that this was no longer just a class project. For them, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to dig up dirt on Bonnie's family background. Drawing her name for such a project seemed to be some sort divine, cosmic justice… A karmic reward for five years of putting up with her incessant flak.

In any case, after what seemed like the longest hour of their young lives, the bell mercifully rang and the students filed into the halls bound for their lockers, followed by whatever subjects that their schedules held in store for them next.

Like nearly everyone else in the student body, Kim and Ron found themselves standing in the hall, studying the insides of their respective lockers, which by pure chance, always seemed to be within a few feet of each other. They could never explain it, but each and every year, they were assigned lockers that were nearly right next to each other. In the end, they always chalked it up to blind luck and left it at that, preferring not to ask too many questions that might wind up jinxing the streak. After all, a very wise person once observed, "I'd rather be really lucky than really good." (Who the heck _did_ say that, anyway?)

"So Ron," Kim remarked. "What do you think the great Rockwaller family heritage is going to be?" There was a strong tone of sarcasm in her voice, with just a slight touch of malice mixed in for good measure.

"Dunno, KP," Ron replied. "She's probably descended from a long line of pig lancers, or something like that."

Kim had to stifle her laughter to avoid drawing unwanted attention to herself. Ron's mind worked in some exceedingly strange ways, and quasi-random thoughts such as this were often the result. Randomness aside, she had to admit that such products of his intellect were usually pretty funny.

His uncanny ability to make her laugh, even when she was feeling dejected or depressed, was one of the many things that she loved about him.

On the surface, the two of them seemed like an unlikely couple. In addition to being head cheerleader, Kim was a straight-A student, a perpetual resident of the honor roll and involved in just about every club and committee offered at the school. On top of that, she was no slouch in the looks department either, and all of this doesn't even get into her world-saving adventures. She was athletic, popular, and perhaps more than anything else, had the Midas touch. Everything she touched, it seemed, instantly turned to gold. She was the girl who could do anything… "Failure" was not a word that you would find in her vocabulary.

Ron, on the other hand, was her polar opposite. His grades were average at best, and he certainly didn't possess Kim's natural athleticism. There was one time when he had actually tripped over his own shadow. He was never much for involvement of any kind, and aside from Kim, had never really had much in the way of friends. He certainly wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn't in any danger of winding-up on a magazine cover anytime soon, either. All in all, he could best be described as being "spectacularly average," and if you looked up the word "Slacker" in the dictionary, you would probably find his picture beside it.

To the two of them, however, none of this mattered. They had discovered, (the _hard_ way, no less), that there were things far more important in a relationship than glam-mag looks or stellar smarts. They realized that picking a boyfriend/girlfriend based on looks and social standing wasn't really dating, so much as it was _accessorizing_. That person was just something fashionable to carry on your arm and impress your peers; no different than a designer purse or a cool sports watch. What they had in each other, they reasoned, was worth so much more than that, even if everyone else around them was either to immature or too shallow to realize it.

To Ron, Kim was his whole world. Being the homely and awkward underachiever that he was, socialization was never his skill set. Couple this with a steadfast non-conformist streak, and his position on the social pecking order was so low that he'd have to kick it up a notch just to be ignored. His parents were no help in this matter, as they always seemed too concerned with their own careers and personal issues to even notice him most of the time.

All of this taken together, would have made for a very lonely life, indeed.

To spite all of this, however, Kim never wavered in her friendship toward him, even when their friendship would have undermined her own position at the top of the high school social ladder. If other people took exception to her hanging out with Ron, then that was _their_ problem, she would say, not hers. (…And it _certainly_ wasn't Ron's.)

For Kim, Ron was her emotional anchor. A steady and stable presence throughout all the years in which they had known each other. Whether she needed a study-partner, a sidekick, a friend to laugh with, or a shoulder to cry on, Ron was always by her side, ready and willing to be whatever she needed him to be at that moment. In times of turmoil, whatever it may be, he was a lighthouse on a storm-tossed sea, a welcoming beacon guiding her back to the safety of the harbor.

He was loyal, he was kind, he was the most-pure hearted person she had ever met, and his iron-clad individuality belied a strength and a courage that went un-noticed by most everyone, except for Kim. Ron was perhaps the most courageous person she knew, not because he wasn't afraid, but because he was afraid of nearly everything, and yet he never let that fear interfere with his absolute devotion to her.

And so they relied on each other, taking strength from one another, and giving strength in return. They carried each other through thick and thin, and in the end, they had come to love each other. More so, perhaps, than either of them had ever dreamed possible.

At first, they had been somewhat hesitant about taking their friendship to such a new level. Those reservations, however, were quickly laid to rest once they discovered that they were both quite comfortable with this new aspect to their relationship. The titles of "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" felt natural to them, and viewing each other in those terms, being together in that way, made them wonder why they hadn't taken this step long before they did. They truly surprised themselves with just how passionate they could be toward each other, more than once taking the opportunity to duck into the janitor's closet for some "extra-curricular activity" of their own, an action which occasionally landed them both in Mr. Barkin's detention period. While he may have secretly approved of the young couple, rules were rules, and as Vice-Principal it was his sworn duty to see that the school's PDA policy was upheld.

"Soooooo," Ron sighed, leaning lazily against his locker. "Whadaya want to do for lunch, KP?"

"Well, the cafeteria menu listed meatloaf for today." Kim replied, eliciting a shudder from Ron.

"Eeeewwwww… sick and WRONG!" he exclaimed. "Tendencies toward being a human garbage disposal aside, there are some things which even _I_ won't eat."

"Well, there is another option in the box."

"Really? You mean it?"

"Would I kid you about something like that?"

"But I thought you were trying to cut back on your fast-food intake."

"Yeah, but considering the alternative…"

"'Nuff said then! Onward to Bueno Nacho! TALLY-HOOOOOOO!!!" Ron cried, thrusting a finger into the air as if leading a charge into battle.

And with that, the two teens headed down the hall toward the place which all but qualified as their second home.

---------

**Author's Notes:**

Alright… Trivia time! Brownie points for anyone who can come up with the source of the quote: _"I'd rather be really lucky than really good."_


	2. Into The Breech

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter Two**

As fast-food joints tend to go, Bueno Nacho really wasn't anything worth writing home about. It was your typical Tex-Mex style franchise eatery, offering up a fare, which would be thoroughly unrecognizable to anyone of Mexican ancestry. In fact, its entire menu bore about as much resemblance to authentic Mexican cuisine as a lilac bush does to a Buick.

This discrepancy, however, did nothing to curb the enthusiasm of a certain blonde-haired seventeen-year-old, with a seemingly cast-iron stomach. Nor did it discourage his unusual pet, as the over-anxious pink blob bouncing on his shoulder would gladly attest to.

"Let's see…" Ron sighed as he pondered the illuminated overhead menu. "So many choices, so little hot sauce."

Kim simply rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh of her own. "C'mon, Ron. Other people want to order too, you know. Besides, you always order the same thing anyway."

"Well maybe I felt like trying something different today, you ever think of that? You know… maybe mix it up a little bit."

"Well, were you?"

"Hmmm… Not really."

The icy glare that Kim shot him at that point spoke volumes to Ron. He quickly placed his standard "Naco-Nite" order and stepped to the side. A few minutes later, and the young couple was seated at their usual booth, preparing to partake of the over-processed, MSG-laced cuisine.

"Ahhhhh, after a tough day at school, there's nothing like the taste of a fresh naco to soothe the soul." Ron pined.

"I don't think anything that goes into a naco could be called fresh," Kim countered. "and this is only our lunch period. There's still three more periods to go."

"And besides," a voice from behind them suddenly called out. "The words 'naco' and 'taste' don't even belong in the same sentence together."

Kim and Ron both spun around to meet the familiar figure of Bonnie staring back at them, an equally familiar smug grin plastered across her face.

Ron didn't miss a beat…

"Bonnie, I wouldn't be talking about taste if I were wearing an orange tank top." He shot back.

Kim spit her soda across the table, thoroughly drenching Rufus, who had been intently devouring an entire tray of Nachos.

Bonnie just stood there stunned. Normally, Ron would shrink under her withering insults, but lately he had been standing his ground. Occasionally he would even launch a counter attack, as the case in point just proved. Perhaps being Possible's boyfriend had given his confidence a much-needed boost, but Bonnie didn't know for sure. What she was sure about, however, was that she didn't care.

Recovering quickly, Bonnie pressed on.

"I just wanted to let you know, Stoppable, that I'm holding you personally responsible for the integrity of my family honor." She said loftily, glancing upward and placing her hand reverently over her heart. "You'd better not do anything stupid to tarnish the Rockwaller name."

Ron snorted his indifference to Bonnie's dramatics. "Don't worry, Bon-Bon. Your family name is in good hands. Now, how do you spell that again?"

"Arrrrrrrugh!" Bonnie growled as she turned and stomped away. A sly smile creased Ron's face. A victory over Bonnie was a rare treat for him, and this was certainly something that he was going to savor.

"Anyway," Kim said, quickly recovering from the shock of Ron's performance against her arch-rival. "What's the 4-1-1 on your family background? Anything juicy I should know about?"

Ron held a contemplative look in his eyes as he paused for a moment to swallow the oversized mouthful of burrito he was chewing, then replied with a slight sigh. "To be honest, KP, I don't think there's really that much of a story to tell when it comes to my fam. We're a pretty boring lot, when you get down to it."

Kim raised an incredulous eyebrow toward her boyfriend. "Oh c'mon, Ron. Surely you must have some famous relative or interesting branch on your family tree."

"Sorry KP, but I got nothing… and don't call me Shirley." He said with a snicker.

With this remark, Kim rolled her eyes and sighed once again. _"What was it about guys and dumb movies, anyway."_ There were some things about the "Y" chromosome that she felt she would never understand.

"So, what… You're saying that I'm stuck with using the internet as my primary research tool? Thanks for the help, friend."

"Sorry KP, but I'm stuck with some very limited resources of my own here. If you find out anything at all, it'll probably be news to me."

"Swell and peachy." Kim replied sarcastically, lowering her head down onto the table.

_BEEP-BEEP-de-BEEP_

The familiar four-pulse tone of the Kimmunicator suddenly collected the attention of everyone at the table. Kim quickly pulled the small, aquamarine-colored device from the pocket of her jeans and pushed the receive button. The screen instantly flashed to life, displaying the cherubic face of Kim's webmaster, Wade Load.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" she inquired with her usual catch phrase.

"Trouble." Wade replied, taking a pull from his ever-present soda. "I'm picking-up a break-in in progress at a top-secret lab."

"Eh… Been there, saved that, got the tee-shirt to show for it." Ron quipped, voicing his boredom with what he deemed to be an all-to-familiar scenario.

"So who do we think is involved here?" Kim asked, ignoring Ron's snide remark. "Drakken again?"

"Actually, this time it's Dementor." Wade responded.

"Well, _that's_ a refreshing change of pace." Ron observed, earning another non-reaction from Kim.

"So what's the ride sitch?" Kim continued.

"Already got you guys hooked up. They should be there in five."

"Spankin'! Wade, you continue to ROCK!"

"Heh… I do the best I can with the tools I got. Wade out!" With this, the screen went blank once again.

"Mission mode, Ron!" Kim called out as she got up from the table. "Better make that a to-go order." indicating the food still in front of him.

"Awwwww… man!" Ron whined. "Cold nacos just aren't the same. And don't even get me _started_ on what happens when you try to re-heat them in the micro… _YAHHHHH!_"

Before he could finish his sentence, Kim had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and was dragging him toward the front door. He barely had enough time to call out for a "doggie-bag" before the doors slammed closed once again.

---------

The man standing before the large, steel, security door did not cut an imposing figure by any stretch of the imagination. Dwarfed by the two henchmen flanking him, he was short, somewhat stocky, had a yellowish complexion that bordered on jaundice, seemed to prefer a more garish style of dress, and don't even get me _started_ on the helmet.

All in all, he looked like the kid you used to beat-up all the time in elementary school.

But looks can be deceiving, and if anyone was going to be beating anyone up, it was going to be him. (Or, at the very least, the henchmen.)

Professor Dementor may have stood only Five-foot-one and been 130 pounds soaking wet, but it was 130 pounds of pure mean. The diminutive German scientist had a hair-trigger temper with aim to match. Add to this an ego as big as all outdoors and a wide streak of natural genius, and you were left with a person who you really wouldn't want to cross paths with in a dark laboratory at midnight.

He stood before the oversized doorway with one hand on his chin and a contemplative look on his face, regarding the door as if it were a piece of modern artwork. His gaze drifted down to point about eye-level, (at least for him), and then right, coming to rest on the security keypad along side.

He incredulously shook his head as he observed the scene. "_Vhy do ze fools always put ze security panels in such an obvious location?_" he asked himself silently. "_Vhy do zey not camouflage zem somehow?_"

He already knew the answer to this question: The so-called experts who designed these systems had too much faith in their own abilities. He snapped his fingers, and one of the henchmen obediently strode to the panel and attached a small, rectangular device.

Most other villains would rely on code generators, which used a complex set of algorithmic programs to deduce the lock's combination, but this was time consuming and notoriously unreliable. Others tended to take the direct approach and go straight to high explosives. Aside from being extremely messy, this method was often somewhat less than effective, not to mention dangerous.

The small box, now attached to the keypad and merrily beeping away, was different. Rather than attempting to decipher the code which the system contained, it simply _re-wrote_ it, replacing the system's program with its own.

Dementor couldn't help but chuckle as he reveled in his own genius. Security designers were so obsessed with fortifying their systems against hackers, safe-crackers and anyone else who would seek to _defeat_ their precious handiwork. They never thought to guard against someone wishing to simply commandeer the system, rather than bring it down entirely.

A sudden change in tone indicated that the device had successfully completed its task, and the gargantuan doors slowly parted to reveal the laboratory beyond.

It was a typical hi-tech, hi-security installation, with computer terminals and worktables scattered throughout in a roughly circular formation. The focal point of it all, however, was a pedestal in the center of the room. There, behind a security field, sat a small, cylindrical, metallic object.

"Ahhhhh…" Dementor cried out with barely-concealed glee. "Ze _Positronic Power Modulator_!" This was what he had traveled so far to retrieve.

Although he was still separated from his prize by the security field, he remained un-deterred. His _Crypto-Compliance Unit_ had overcome the locks on the lab door. It would certainly make quick work of the force field.

Placing the small unit once again on a ferociously obvious panel, it was mere seconds before the field suddenly flickered, then blinked from existence.

"It iz mine, all mine!" he cackled as he reached for the object of his ambitions. "Und it vas all so easy!"

"Total elapsed time: two minutes-fourteen seconds!" a voice suddenly called out from behind them. "We may have a new record here!"

The three men spun around at once to face the all-to-familiar sight of emerald-green eyes beneath auburn-red hair staring back at them.

"It'z not difficult vhen you are a gifted intellect, such as myself." Dementor growled in response.

"Plus, it's not like they're making it really hard or anything." Ron added, striding up from behind Kim. "I mean, look at how conspicuous all the security panels are. They should at least try to hide them behind something. What the heck do they think potted plants are for, anyway?"

"We can discuss your views on interior decoration later, Ron." Kim said, cutting him off. "Trying to focus here."

Dementor simply sneered at the two teens. "Vhile ve appreciate ze effort, hero thieves, my henchmen und I vere just leaving."

"Oh, I wouldn't be to sure of that, old foe." Ron said, taking a couple more steps forward. "The way I'm seeing things right now, you've got four things to worry about." He thrust a thumb back over his shoulder toward Kim.

"She's three of them." he concluded with a sly smile, causing Kim to blush ever so slightly.

At this, Dementor only sneered again. "Really? Und vhat iz ze fourth thing?" he inquired.

"Your fly is open." Ron quipped, matter-of-factly.

"EEEEK!" Dementor shrieked, quickly turning around to zip himself as Kim and the henchmen laughed almost uncontrollably.

"HALTET EUERE MAULER!" Dementor roared, turning to the still snickering henchmen. "Und I pay you goot money so that you vill TELL ME DEEZ THINGS!"

"So, Dementor," Kim broke in, lowering herself into a fighting stance. "Your move." She quickly sized up the two hulking henchmen. They were big, but she'd fought more impressive specimens on several occasions. "Betcha' wish you'd brought more bodies" she added, slightly worried by the coy smile which had suddenly appeared on Dementor's face.

"Deez men," he chuckled, indicating the henchmen beside him. "Vhy they're just here to do ze heavy lifting. Ze _fighting_ I vill leave to ze experts."

With these words, he snapped his fingers, and Kim and Ron suddenly found themselves surrounded by a dozen synthodrones, which had appeared from the shadows ringing the large chamber.

"Interesting move, professor." Kim said dryly as she backed into a defensive position against Ron. "You're working with Drakken now, are you?"

Dementor simply laughed at this. "Oh please fraulein, vhy vould I ever stoop to verking vith such an incompetent dummkopf. I purchased the blueprints for deez specimens on evil-bay."

"Evil-bay?" Kim asked quizzically with a raised eyebrow. "Bad guys have their own on-line auction site?"

"Wow… You really can get anything on the internet." Ron observed. "You know, just the other day I heard that somebody put the O' Boyz's artistic integrity up for bid."

"Who put whose _what_ up for bid?"

"Yeah, weird huh? Some guy did it as a protest. The dude claimed that they had sold out to big business and that they're now just another marketing tool of corporate America."

"Ron, they're a stylized, bubble-gum boy band with canned music, and they're marketed like a breakfast cereal. They've been a corporate tool since the day they were created."

"I know, KP. That was pretty much the consensus of the two dozen guys who jumped on the dude and flamed him for the post."

"And you were one of the flame patrol, I take it."

"What can I say? The Ronster likes a good digital dog-pile."

"EXCUSE ME!" Dementor suddenly bellowed from the background. "But could ve please get back to ze topic at hand? Some of us have a schedule to keep!"

With that, the drones began to advance.

Kim crouched down like a tiger, ready to pounce.

Ron tried to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't the most heroic of tactics, but it had served him well in the past.

Suddenly two drones, armed with laser swords, charged Kim from opposite directions. Years of martial arts training taking over, she dropped low to the ground, allowing the glowing blades to pass harmlessly over her, and into the chests of the drones. They both melted to the ground in familiar puddles of green goo, having successfully gutted each other like so many dead fish.

Now two more drones attacked in similar fashion. Kim rose up into a handstand and launched a perfect butterfly kick that sent the drones flying, taking down a quartet of other drones as they went.

Meanwhile, Ron's attempt to become invisible was proving to be somewhat less successful. Facing four drones of his own, his eyes darted nervously about the room, desperately looking for an opening, (preferably an emergency exit of some kind).

One drone lunged at him, sword at the ready. He screamed effeminately and ducked, the blade narrowly missing him. The drone quickly recovered and attacked again, this time bringing the sword down from above its head. In a panic, Ron somersaulted forward, trying desperately to remove himself from the blade's path. As he did so, he accidentally knocked into the drone's leg, sending the synthetic being into a somersault of it own, the laser sword flying free from its hand. Ron shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness which had been placed there by the sudden tumble, when he was startled by the flash of the sword as it embedded itself into the floor beside him.

"Booyah!" he crowed, quickly picking himself up and grabbing the now available weapon. "Let's hear it for dumb skills!" Now _this_ was making things interesting.

The other three drones attacked in unison, but a quick, arcing sweep of the blade felled them all. The one drawback to synthodrones, (besides the whole "melting into goo" thing), was that they were exceedingly stupid. What little intelligence they did possess obviously wasn't enough to grasp concepts such as battle tactics and coordinated assaults. They usually employed wave attacks, charging an enemy en mass, and relying on sheer force of numbers to carry the day. It usually worked, but when used against an opponent who was either highly-skilled or well-armed, the tactic was somewhat less than effective.

In this situation, the opponents facing the drones were _both_. Kim's training with sixteen styles of kung-fu, coupled with Ron's accidental acquisition of the laser sword added up to a formidable opponent which the drones simply couldn't beat.

Unfortunately for the two teen heroes, they didn't have to.

Moments later, as Kim pitched the last drone over her shoulder and onto a pile of debris, Ron looked around to see the two of them standing in an empty laboratory. Dementor and the henchmen had fled during the course of the battle, and they'd taken the Positronic Power Module with them.

"Awwwwwww… Fudge!" Kim exclaimed upon noticing the missing mad scientist.

"Yeah, I hate it when they get away." Ron concurred.

"Well, let's get a' move on." Kim commanded, picking up her backpack and taking a final look around. "It's a school night and my 'rents will be tweaked if we're late."

"No kidding." Ron said. "Think about how I feel. For you, being late means being grounded. For me, being out after curfew with you means a one way trip down a black hole."

Inwardly, Kim had to laugh at this. Since she and Ron had been dating, the "black-hole" scenario had been a standing threat from her father, should Ron ever step out of line. Although Kim had repeatedly assured Ron that no rocket currently existed that could ever reach that far into space, he never seemed convinced. It was, after all, his nature to play things on the safe side.

For now, however, the eminent threat of groundation was motivation enough, and the two teens were soon on their way to the extraction point, which Wade had sent them. Maybe he could track down Dementor and piece together just what he was up to, although "no good" seemed to be pretty much a certainty here. In any case, there was nothing more they could do from their current position, so they walked, the uncertainty of this new sitch weighing on both their minds.

**Author's Notes:**

"_Haltet euere mauler_" is a German phrase, which loosely translates to "_shut up your mouths_." It just seemed appropriate, I thought. Special thanks to CastaS for helping me with my grammar here. I'm afraid that I don't really know much German. What little bit I do know is just what I've managed to pick up from watching old World War Two movies on late-night television.


	3. Revelation

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter Three**

The two teens, (and one naked mole rat), were standing in front of Kim's locker, staring at an image of Wade on Kim's built-in personal computer. The results from the mission the night before had been somewhat less than spectacular, and they were trying to plot their next move.

"The Positronic Power Modulator, or PPM, is an ultra-new device, developed in utmost secrecy." Wade explained.

"Well not quite secret enough, if Dementor was able to find out about it." Kim remarked dryly.

"Ummm, yeah." Wade said in return. "The lab's security could use a few upgrades."

"Like hiding the key pads!" Ron interjected.

Kim shot Ron a look, and then pressed on. "So Wade, what does this PPM-thingy do anyway?"

"Well, it's still a little sketchy, but I was able to pick-up some info by hacking into the lab's computers."

"You hacked into their computers?"

"Heh-heh… Like I said, their security needs some upgrades."

"Oh-Kaaaay… Over-looking that for the time being."

"Yeah, anyway, it looks like the PPM is designed to allow transmission of a data stream at extremely high amplitude."

"Yeeeeeah… Let's pretend for a moment that I don't know what that means." Ron interjected once again.

"It means that you can broadcast something at a scary-high power level without distorting the signal you're broadcasting." Wade replied.

"Ohhhhh… Kinda like cranking the stereo up all the way and not having that rumbly-thing crack the glass in the china cabinet."

"Uhhhhhh… Yeah. If that helps."

Sooooo…" Kim broke in, turning the conversation back to the topic at hand. "What does Dementor want with a high-power radio transmitter?"

"Dunno yet." Wade replied. "Maybe we should review everything that's happened up until now?"

"Well, let's see…" Ron pondered aloud. "First, the earth cooled. Then the dinosaurs came, but they got too big and fat 'n stuff, so they all died and turned into oil."

"Ron…" Kim moaned.

"And then the Arabs came, and they drove Mercedes-Benzes."

"_Rooooooooon…_."

"And then Prince Charles started wearing all of Lady Di's clothes. I mean, I couldn't believe it! He just put on her best summer dress and walked straight into town…"

"**RON!!!**"

"Huh, what?"

"FOCUS!!!"

Ron's only reply to this was a sheepish grin.

"So, Wade, you were saying." Kim continued.

"Just that we should review what we know."

"Which is?"

"That he's stolen the PPM, and that he's been shopping on-line lately."

"Huh?"

"That's where he got the Synthodrones, Kim… Remember."

"Oh, yeah, right."

Kim stood motionless for several seconds, her hand on her chin in thoughtful repose. Suddenly, an idea struck her.

"Wade, if Dementor got the drones off the internet, then maybe he's been getting other stuff on-line as well."

"You think running a trace of his purchases will show what he's up to?" Wade inquired.

"Please and thank-you!"

"Allright, I'm on it! Wade out!" and with that, the screen went blank.

"So, Ron…" Kim said, turning her attention to her best friend. "What's new on the project front?"

"Well, you're probably not gonna like this, KP."

"Oh-kaaaaay, why is _that?_"

"Uhhhh… I sorta discovered that Bonnie is related to Marie Antoinette."

"WHAT?!" Kim nearly shrieked. "That self-obsessed social-climber is actually descended from _royalty?_" She said the last part in a near whisper. She didn't want any of this getting back to Bonnie if she could help it. The brunette cheerleader was enough of a handful already. The image of what she would be when armed with knowledge of royal blood running through her veins was enough to send cold shivers down Kim's spine.

"Incredible, but true." Ron replied in an equally subdued voice. "The sources I dug up are pretty concrete."

"How concrete?" Kim asked. Ron wasn't exactly known for his research skills. There was a faint hope that he was somehow mistaken. Perhaps he had misread the evidence, or had been dealing with unreliable sources. There was also the distinct possibility that he was just making the whole thing up.

"Genealogy dot com, the national archives, the University of Paris…" Ron recited the list of websites he had used.

So much for hope… 

"Well, I could always emphasize what ultimately happened to 'Miss Let-Them-Eat-Cakestress'." Ron brainstormed out loud.

"You mean the whole 'off with her head' thing?" Kim asked in reply.

"That's the one." Ron said in return. "Hey, maybe we can get some of the guys in the woodshop class to build us a guillotine?"

"I don't think that would fly, Ron." Kim laughed. "Public beheadings after cheer practice aren't exactly within school policy."

"Well, I was just spit-balling…" Ron said. "So how are you coming with your side of things?"

Kim shut her locker and turned to face Ron. "Actually, I have a few questions." she finally said. " I seem to have run into somewhat of a snag."

Ron simply raised a curious eyebrow to this.

"You see, I've gotten a lot of good material on your distant relatives. A lot of them seem to be artists and businessmen, living in Europe. A few were even local politicians."

Kim paused to take a breath before continuing.

"The snag comes shortly after the Great Depression hit. It's like my research suddenly hits a wall, and I can't find any records, anywhere! Did your entire family suddenly enter the witness-protection program or something?"

Kim looked up at Ron and noticed that he had seemingly developed a sudden fascination with the laces of his shoes. He wouldn't make eye contact with her, choosing instead to look down and rub the back of his neck, nervously.

"Uhhhhh… Earth to Ron! Hel-loooooo"

"Huh?… Wha?"

"Umm… Is there something that you're not telling me, here?"

"Well, it's just that, uhhh… Oh, hey, look at the time!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, looking at his bare wrist. "I just remembered, I gotta go see the guy at the place about the thing! Uh, we'll talk later! See ya'!"

With that, Ron bolted down the hall, leaving Kim standing beside her locker with an expression on her face that perfectly articulated her thoughts at that moment…

"_What the HECK was that about?!"_

---------

Wolfgang Puck's lessons on presentation obviously held little sway with Doctor Anne Possible, and her signature dish was ample evidence of that fact.

As much as one tried not to think about it that way, there was just something about "Brain Loaf" that would put even a seasoned professional off his lunch. Sure, it was just regular, run-of-the-mill meatloaf. In substance, it was no different that the amalgamous, brick-shaped concoction served up by thousands of busy housewives each day. However, when your mother is a brain surgeon with a flair for creativity… Well, as a very wise person once said: "stuff happens."

As usual, her teenage daughter was somewhat less than enthusiastic about the steaming facsimile of a human cerebrum sitting on the table. Her twin sons, on the other hand, were characteristically enthralled by the display, repeatedly asking for a slice of the "Substantia Nigra" area; a request which they knew made their sister cringe.

Anne said nothing. The experience gained by raising three children had taught her not to become involved unless it was totally necessary. Still, as the evening meal wore on, she began to suspect that something else was bothering her only daughter.

After several more minutes of observing Kim from across the table, she finally put down her fork, sighed deeply, and spoke.

"Is there something the matter, Kimmie?" she asked with a tone of genuine concern.

"Huh?" Kim said, jerking her head up with a startled expression. "Ah, no, not at all. Everything's fine." she replied, forcing a rather unconvincing smile.

Anne simply raised an eyebrow to this, which was indication enough that she wasn't buying any of it.

Kim sensed her mother's disbelief, and was smart enough to realize that she wasn't going to let up. She heaved a heavy sigh, resigning herself to a full confession.

"Oh, it's just a project I'm working on for school. No big." she finally replied.

"Apparently it's big enough that you've hardly touched your dinner." Anne replied.

Dr. Anne Possible could smell anxiety in her children the way sharks smell blood.

"Well," Kim drawled, thinking about what to say next. "It's just that my research has run into a major roadblock, and I just can't seem to get past it."

"This is that 'family-history' project, right Kimmiecub." her father broke in.

"Yeah, dad. I'm fine up until the nineteen thirties, then it's like Ron's whole family drops off the radar. Arrrgh! Major frustration." She threw her head down onto the table, narrowly missing the dinner in front of her.

Kim's parents suddenly went silent, exchanging meaningful glances for the next several seconds. For Kim, this was all she could take.

"Allright, what's going on here?" she said, jumping up from the table with a jolt. "First Ron, and now you guys! Why does everybody suddenly clam-up like a mime when I bring this up? What the heck is the ferociously big secret?"

Her parents looked at each other once again, and her father nodded slightly.

"Kimmiecub, I think you'd better come with me." he finally said, his voice soft and filled with trepidation.

Doctor James Possible led his daughter from the dining area and down the hall to his study near the back of the house. The desk and table were piled high with blueprints for new rockets and sheets of computations. This was his private work area, and at the back of the room stood a large, wooden bookcase. Her father reached high to the top shelf, retrieving a large, dusty, leather-bound volume from is designated place. The book was obviously old, and several of the pages had been dog-eared.

"I suspect this may help explain some of the gaps that you're finding in Ron's family tree." her father stated with a noticeable twinge of emotion in his voice. "Chapter fifteen should be helpful." With that, he turned away and returned to the dining room, leaving Kim standing in the study with the book he had given her. Quizzically, she looked down to the title printed in gold leaf on the book's cover:

"_ANTHOLOGY of the SECOND WORLD WAR_"

This sitch just kept getting weirder by the hour.

---------

Clad in her pink bathrobe and carrying a mug of tea, Anne Possible was on her way to bed when she noticed the light coming from her daughter's bedroom loft. Kim was obviously still up, and a quick glance to the clock at the end of the hall told her that this was a problem. It was a school night, and adequate sleep was a priority, even if Kim didn't always see it that way.

Making her way slowly up the cast iron steps, she poked her head through the open hatch in the floor, and silently pondered the sight which greeted her.

Kim was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a large book sprawled across her lap. The expression on her face was completely blank, conveying no other emotion than overwhelming shock. Anne could only describe it as the "thousand-yard stare" she sometimes heard mentioned in military circles.

"Sweetie? You okay?" she softly called to her daughter.

Kim didn't respond.

Taking the initiative, Anne slowly entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping a close watch on Kim's expression. The motion of the bed when her mother sat beside her finally brought her attention around.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mrs. Possible inquired again.

"Th… they… they're all d… _dead_." Kim barely managed to squeak. "They… killed… them."

Anne looked down at the book, which Kim had obviously been reading. Inside the well-worn pages were black-and-white photographs depicting some of the most grotesque images imaginable. Bodies stacked up like cordwood. Eviscerated human remains staring back from half-open crematoria ovens. Survivors who were little more than walking, skin-draped skeletons, and uniformed guards who were smiling and laughing through it all.

Anne simply leaned over and put a comforting arm around her daughter. She knew Kim had been all around the world fighting evil, and in doing so, had probably concluded that she knew what true evil was.

The holocaust, however, was an entirely different level of evil. It was in a league by itself.

Kim looked up at her mother, tears now starting to form in her eyes as shock slowly morphed into sadness. She tried to speak, but could only manage a single word:

"_How?_"

Anne could only look away and close her eyes. She had no idea how to answer this question. At least, not in a way that would satisfy her daughter. Kim had always enjoyed that advantages of youth, and one of those advantages was the ability to see the world in terms of black and white. In _her_ world, good and evil were clearly defined. There were heroes, and there were villains, and you always knew who was who.

The holocaust defied such categorization. Not only was its evil perpetrated on such a monumental scale, but it had been carried out, for the most part, by ordinary people; people with friends and families, pets and home mortgages. They were people who went to church on Sundays and celebrated their children's birthdays just the same as anyone else would. Then on Monday morning, they would pick-up their lunch pails, punch the clock, and return to their jobs, operating the machinery of the "factories of death."

"I don't know, sweetie." Anne finally said in response to her daughter's question. "People have been asking that question now for over sixty years, and they'll probably be asking it forever."

"But, there must be…" Kim protested.

"I'm sorry, honey, but there's just no simple answer to that question." She sighed heavily. "As you grow older, you'll eventually learn that there are just some questions for which no answer exists."

Anne leaned down and gently kissed her daughter on the top of her head.

"Get to bed, sweetie. You've got school tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know. G'night mom."

Kim clicked off her light, and her mother closed the hatch as she left.

Now alone in the darkness, she pulled the covers snug around her. She closed her eyes, beckoning sleep to overtake her, but soon found the effort to be futile. Every time she closed her eyes, she was treated to a slide-show of the horrific images she had seen in that confounded book. Didn't her father know how seeing that would effect her? Why had he even given her that cursed thing?

"_Duhhhhhh!_" a small voice inside her head screamed. "_Maybe because you ASKED for help on your project?_"

Kim groaned dejectedly into her pillow. She had been so distraught by the contents of the book that she had completely forgotten the reason she had been reading it. This was so ferociously unfair! Not only did she now have these images seared into her mind, but she was going to have to use them in her report. After all, this _was_ part of Ron's family history.

With that thought, Kim bolted upright in bed, a slew of different images racing through her mind. The thoughtful pause Ron gave her at Bueno Nacho when she first asked him about his family. The way he wouldn't look her in the eyes in front of her locker that afternoon. The wheels of her mind quickly turned, clicking into place to form an epiphany, and her jaw nearly hit the mattress when she finally grasped the mind-numbing truth of the matter:

He knew! 

Ron must have known all along, Kim surmised. It explained his strange behavior as of late. In fact, he probably had known for years, choosing never to bring it up. After all, it's not the sort of thing that one can really slip into casual conversation. Still, she couldn't believe that after all the years she and Ron had known each other, he would be hiding something like this from her. The prospect of Ron not confiding in her left her feeling hurt, but she shuddered to think what it must have been like for him. To suffer in solitude for all those years, having no one to share his burden of knowledge.

But just what exactly was that knowledge? Kim was completely in the dark on this point. She had no way of knowing the true nature of what Ron had been hiding from her all these years.

Well, that wasn't entirely true…

Inspiration hit in a heartbeat, and within moments she was at her computer, desperately trying to contact Wade.

"Ugh. Do you have any idea what time it is?" a bleary-eyed wade groaned as he finally appeared on the screen, rubbing his eyes. He was dressed in his pajamas, and had obviously been in bed when the call had come in.

"Bedtime, apparently." Kim retorted. "Look wade, I need you to run a quick web search."

"Uh, sure." Wade replied. "What for?"

"Stoppable is a pretty unique name, isn't it?"

"Uhhhhh, yeah, I suppose."

"So any records with that name are likely to be a relation, right?"

"Once again, I suppose."

"Spankin'! So can you run a search for the name Stoppable in all databases that list Holocaust victims?"

"Wait, what?" Wade replied, taken somewhat aback by the unexpected nature of this request.

"Yeah, it's weird, I know, but it's also, like, ferociously important!" Kim implored. "So like I said, can you do it?"

"In my sleep!" Wade replied with a confidently sly grin.

"Ironic choice of words." Kim mumbled to herself. "Let's light this candle!"

Wade's fingers flew across his keyboard, each keystroke indistinguishable from the others. Within moments, a two-tone beep from his machine indicated that the search was complete. Wade gazed intently at the results on his screen, then turned toward his monitor to face Kim.

"Well, I ran the search just like you asked. I ran the name Stoppable through every Holocaust registry and database I could find."

"And what's the verdict?" Kim asked, leaning forward to stare intently at the figure on the screen.

Wade took a deep breath before speaking. "I've got twenty-eight separate hits."

Kim found it difficult to form the question she wanted to ask next. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. She was already dreading the answer, and she had yet to even ask the question. Still, she screwed on her courage and plowed ahead.

"And… and how many of those are survivors?" she finally managed to choke out.

There was a long pause…

"None." came Wade's melancholy reply.

Kim didn't even bother to thank Wade or say goodnight. She simply reached over and hit the button closing the connection. Her mind was in too much of a fog at the moment to do much of anything else. She tried desperately to comprehend what it must have been like for Ron to live with such a secret for all these years; the inner-strength it must require. The inner-demons that he must have to face on a daily basis.

Suddenly, Kim felt an overwhelming urge to go to him; to be with the man she loved. She needed to hold him in her arms, to tell him that he was no longer alone in his secret. She needed him to unburden himself of this secret to her, just as she needed to unburden herself of this knowledge to him.

She didn't even bother to change out of her pajamas. Not wanting to chance waking either her parents or her brothers sleeping on the floor below, she simply put on her slippers and slipped out her bedroom window. The evening was warm, so there was no need for a coat. She jumped down onto the close-cropped grass of the front lawn, and began running down the street, intent on covering the few blocks to Ron's house as quickly as possible. She was on a mission, and nothing in the world could get in her way.

---------

**Author's Notes:**

Okay, I realize that this is a somewhat touchy subject I'm getting into here, and I'm trying to handle it with as much tact and taste as possible, while still doing justice to the subject itself. I'm really curious here, as to how well I'm doing in this regard. Please feel free to let me know, as I'm a little nervous about this, and I'd love to improve if I can.


	4. Definitions of Devotion

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!

* * *

_

**Chapter Four**

"_Huh… I didn't do it!_" Ron snorted, bolting awake from a dream. A moment before, he had been sound asleep and dreaming that Mr. Barkin was chewing him out about something of which he had no knowledge. "_Fer cryin' out loud… even in my __**sleep**__, I can't get away from that guy!_" he thought.

It was then that the sound which had awoken him entered his ears once again. It was a distinct ringing noise, and in his sleep-induced stupor, Ron began to reach for the telephone. He quickly froze when he realized that the source of all that obnoxious ringing was not the phone, but rather the doorbell.

Cautiously, he got out of bed and stepped into his slippers. His parents were away in Denver for the week making him the only resident of the house right now. (Well, except for Rufus, of course.) An unknown visitor at this time of the night was highly unusual, and it put him in a rather uncomfortable position.

Slowly, he descended the stairs, taking great care to avoid the squeaky spots, which would give his presence away. Upon finally reaching the front door, he gingerly peered through the peephole, and was taken aback by the sight which greeted him.

Working quickly, he undid the latch and opened the door to reveal his pajama-clad friend, standing there in the dim light of the porch lamp, her hands behind her back and a distressed look upon her face.

"Uhhhh… Hey there, KP." Ron stammered, not certain as to what was going on just then. "What's… the… sitch?"

With that, Kim lunged forward through the open door and threw her arms around his neck, embracing him with all her strength. She sobbed lightly into his shoulder, moistening his pajamas, and softly kept repeating the only thing that she could think to say:

"I'm sorry..."

"Uhhhhh… Confused." Ron stuttered, once he finally regained his voice. Kim's emotional display was highly out of character for her. Something serious must have happened to throw the strong, cool and confident Kim Possible into such a state. For the life of him, however, he couldn't think of what that something might be.

"Is everything all right, KP?" Ron finally continued. "What's happened?"

Kim finally looked up, locking her gaze with his. His brown eyes were always so soft and warm, so filled with love and devotion. They were like the eyes of a puppy, conveying a playful, gentle spirit, which Kim desperately hoped he would never loose.

But those same eyes also masked a personal pain and a sorrow which until this day, Kim would never had dreamt existed; certainly not when it came to Ron, in any case. His ability to mask that pain was truly astounding, and yet she still needed to let him know that he was not alone in carrying this burden any longer.

"I… I was working on my project," Kim started to say. "And Wade found some information about your family during the war, and it was… it was…" Her voice trailed off, unable to complete her sentence.

Ron blinked a couple of times in confusion at this, but his eyes quickly settled into a knowing expression as he deduced what Kim was getting at. Slowly, gently, he led her to the sofa in the living room. Once she was seated, he quickly ducked into the kitchen, returning momentarily with two mugs of hot, herbal tea. They sat there for several minutes, each sipping in silence, before Ron finally spoke.

"Been reading about the camps, huh?" Ron inquired, although he already knew the answer.

Kim simply nodded in agreement.

"Heh..." Ron chuckled to himself. "Yeah, and I thought spending a summer at Wannaweep was bad."

Kim was aghast at this. "Ron, how can you joke about something like this?" she asked incredulously. "Two-thirds of your family was wiped out, just because of who they were, and you crack wise about it?"

"So what am I supposed to do?" Ron asked with shrugged shoulders and a slightly incredulous tone of his own. "Spend my whole life moping around, wallowing in my own grief?"

He heaved an exasperated sigh before continuing, this time in a much more calm and thoughtful tone.

"When you're Jewish, Kimbo, the Holocaust is a part of you. It's something that you always carry with you, stashed away somewhere in the far recesses of your mind. It can be a burden at times, mind you, but for most part it's something that you make your peace with and keep moving forward. Eventually it becomes comfortable; like an old leather jacket."

"So, you're like, okay with all this, then?" Kim asked. She was astounded at how well Ron had adapted to this bit of his personal history. She had to admit that, when it came to dealing with all the crap life could throw at a person, she didn't give her friend nearly enough credit.

"Yeah, I guess you could say I'm okay with it." Ron replied. "I mean, it's something that will always be with me, but I can't let it control who I am. If I allow myself to be dominated by this, then I let them win."

At this statement, Kim simply blinked repeatedly, not certain as to what Ron was getting at.

"The best revenge is to live well, KP." Ron explained, sensing Kim's confusion. "The Nazis wanted to erase us from history. What better way to shove it back in their goose-stepping faces than to live well and prosper?" His face stretched into a smug grin as he said this.

Kim's quickly found that she was grinning as well. It really was that simple, after all. For Ron and his family to live well and enjoy life was, in a sense, the ultimate end zone dance; a taunting finger from across the decades and a triumphant shout of "_nice try, __**losers**__!_"

Once again, she found herself astounded. Many people would buckle under the weight of such a dark personal history, allowing the darkness to overtake them in the process. Ron, on the other hand, had consciously chosen to embrace the light in life, rather than the darkness which surrounded him. In his zest for life, his easy-going attitude and his sense of child-like wonder, he carried the light aloft; a sign of outright defiance against that terrible darkness.

As she reached over to embrace him, and in turn felt the warmth of his return embrace, she couldn't help but notice a lone thought flutter through her mind:

"_I __REALLY__ don't give this boy enough credit._"

* * *

The next few days went normally enough for the two teens. There was school, homework, cheer practice, and of course their usual dates. Kim, however, now found herself looking at her boyfriend in a very different way than what she was used to. Where previously there had just been Ron, now there was something more. She now saw a bastion of courage and inner-strength. For years, he had hidden it well, but every breath he took was part of his own private battle against personal demons, which few people could ever comprehend.

True to form, Ron was oblivious to the subtle change in the way his girlfriend looked at him. He simply plodded along in his daily routines, convinced that nothing was amiss. After all, he was a _guy_, and guys don't do subtly.

To spite the recent excitement, he had been able to dig-up some more encouraging dirt on Bonnie. It turned out that her great aunt had been living outside of London, working as a secretary for RAF Fighter Command during the war. In 1942, she had been caught passing classified information to a German agent. "Apparently 'snitchery' runs in the Rockwaller family." Kim had observed mockingly.

And so it came to pass that that afternoon during lunch break, the familiar four-tone chirp of the Kimunicator rang from Kim's pants pocket. It took her only a moment to extract the device and press the "accept" key, revealing the image of Wade.

"Sitch it, Wade." Kim said snappily, not waiting for any salutation from her computer-friend.

"Well, the good news is that I've finally figured out how Dementor plans on using the PPM." Wade replied.

"I'm guessing that means there's also bad news, too." Ron quipped in return.

"'Fraid so." came Wade's response.

"Good news first, please and thank-you." Kim broke in.

"Okay, the short version is that by tracking the on-line purchase records of certain electronic components, I've figured out what Dementor plans on using the PPM for. He's going to broadcast a signal directly into the global telecommunication satellite network." Wade explained. "Then, he'll be able to hold virtually all the world's communications hostage!"

"Ahhhh… So _that's_ why Dementor needed that do-hickey thing!" Ron suddenly exclaimed. "It takes a strong signal to jam _all_ the satellites, and he doesn't want it getting mixed up."

"Sort of like Drakken in Florida last summer." Kim added. "He went after MP3 players with his mind-control thing, but scrambled the signal and wound-up getting hearing aids instead."

"Exact-a-mundo!" Wade exclaimed.

"Beg pardon?" Kim questioned with a quizzical look.

"Sorry… 'Happy Days' marathon on TV last night. Anyway, the bad news is that from what I can tell, Dementor already has all the equipment he needs to make a go of this."

"Then we don't have much time!" Kim growled, a look of stern determination quickly spreading across her face. "Do you have a trace on Dementor's current location?"

"Set and locked!" Wade replied with a sly grin. His new lair is on the North Sea coast of Germany.

"And the ride sitch?

"They'll be there by the time you're ready."

"Spankin'! As always, you continue to rock, Wade!"

Wade simply shrugged, and his image winked out of the Kimunicator's screen.

"C'mon Ron!" Kim commanded. "Time to saddle up, lock 'n load!"

"Right behind ya' KP!" Ron shouted as he tore off down the hall, hot on his girlfriend's heels. "Time to kick some bratwurst!"

* * *

The ramp in the back of the C-130 cargo plane opened slowly, and two figures stepped up to the edge. The sun had set a short while ago, and for the moment the last few rays of dusk were still visible on the horizon. There was a noticeable chill in the air; a fact made worse by the altitude and the slipstream of the plane.

"I know I've said this before," Ron yelled over the roar of the engines, "but for just _once_, couldn't we land and taxi to a gate or something?"

"Don't be such a baby, Ron!" Kim yelled back, rolling her eyes. "We've done this dozens of times before!"

"I am not being a baby! It's just that, oh, never mind! We go on your mark, okay?"

Kim glanced over at Ron, who had dropped into a "ready" crouch. He was attempting to put on a brave face, but Kim could tell he was frightened.

This was one of the major differences between the two of them. She loved the danger presented by these situations; even thrived on it. She found the adrenalin rush exhilarating. Some people might have even called her a "thrill seeker" because of it.

Ron, on the other hand, was beyond terrified of such things, and no amount of chest-pounding or false bravado could mask that from Kim. She simply knew him too well to be fooled in that way. She knew that every instinct he had was telling him to turn and run, yet he refused to acknowledge that message. There were larger issues at stake for him, here.

Furthermore, Kim fully understood just what those issues were, and it made her heart flutter whenever she thought about them. The only reason Ron ever found the courage to go through with these things was his absolute and total devotion to her. In his view, he was her sidekick and best friend, and that meant standing firmly by her side, no matter what the circumstance. He would walk straight through the fires of Hell for her if he had to. This was a sacred responsibility, which he would not allow himself to fail at.

At that moment, a red light within the cargo bay suddenly flashed to green.

"Go time!" Kim yelled, and with that, the two teens stepped off the ramp and into the approaching darkness.

* * *

All light of day had disappeared from the sky by the time they touched down: Kim with the grace and poise of an Olympic gymnast, and Ron with an inglorious thud. It was a good thing they weren't being graded on style for this mission.

After stowing their parachutes, they took stock of their surroundings. They had landed on a ledge overlooking the ocean, just outside of Dementor's lair. The lair towered above them, looking like some modernistic version of a medieval castle, built of reinforced concrete rather than stone and mortar. Observation towers sprang from the walls like turrets. All in all, it was an impressive, if ominous sight.

"Hmmmmm…" Ron said, regarding the structure before him. "Personally, if it were me, I would have fired the architect."

"It's a lair, Ron." Kim countered. "It's _supposed_ to be dark and foreboding."

"Yeah, but the whole Goth motif has just been done to death by now." Ron replied. "Why doesn't somebody do a post-modern lair? You know, maybe with a Tudor-style roof and some art-deco…"

"Head in the game, Ron!" Kim chided. "We can discuss your views on architectural design later."

Ron simply grunted his acquiescence, and shouldered his backpack as the two of them started making their way toward a large, steel door set into the cliff at the back of the ledge.

"Hey, KP…" Ron suddenly whispered. "I just had a thought."

"Good for you." Kim gently ribbed.

"No seriously." he insisted. "You saw all of those surveillance towers along the wall, right?"

"Uh huh… So what of them?"

"Well, isn't it ferociously strange that with all that capability, nobody's spotted us yet?"

"Who said zat you haven't been spotted yet, hero thieves?" an all-too-familiar voice boomed from above.

Two sets of eyes, one green and one brown, suddenly shot upward to see the familiar face of the helmet-clad villain accompanied by over a dozen synthodrones, arrayed along a smaller ledge about ten feet above them. Instinctively, both teens dropped into fighting crouches.

"Nice timing. Shall we skip the witty banter and cut right to the action, then?" Kim asked dryly.

Dementor simply shrugged. "Vell, I _do_ enjoy good banter, but I also have a lot of evil on my plate today, und then there's dat meeting vith my stock broker this evening…"

"Ooooh, ooh… That reminds me, what's he think about the future of mutual funds?" Ron suddenly broke in, eliciting a sideways glance from Kim.

"_Whaaaaat…_," Ron whined. "Just because I'm only seventeen I'm not allowed to start planning for retirement?"

"It iz gute to start early." Dementor interjected. "One does not plan to fail; zey simply fail to plan."

"_Heyyyyy…_ that's catchy, dude! Good one!"

"Danke!" the yellow-skinned villain said with a smile. "You know, I really should write some of zees things down..."

"Uhhhh, weren't we supposed to be _skipping_ the banter?" Kim broke in.

"Vhat… Oh, yah, right." Dementor said, breaking out of a thoughtful repose. "Synthodrones _ATTACK!_"

In unison, the drones leapt down from their elevated perch and attacked. Kim grabbed one drone as it lunged for her and threw it head-over heels off the cliff. Another drone attacked with a roundhouse punch, which she deftly ducked under before countering with a leg whip which sent the drone flying backwards, taking down two of it comrades as it went. A third attack was quickly defeated with a spin-kick to the temple, sending the drone sprawling into a heap on the ground. As usual, she was on fire, and nothing it seemed could touch her.

Ron, on the other hand, was having a slightly more difficult time of it.

His fighting skills could never compare to Kim's, and he knew this. He always relied more upon skillfully dodging an opponents attacks, and allowing his intrinsic dumb luck to carry the day. Although highly unconventional as fighting styles went, it had always served him well, although at times it could certainly prove nerve-wracking.

This was quickly proving to be one of those times.

Two drones charged him head on, their fists raised and ready to strike. Thinking quickly, Ron charged straight into them, then dove into a summersault, passing right between them before they were able to adjust. He quickly regained his feet, displaying a self-satisfied smile.

The smile didn't last long, however, as he suddenly realized that he was now nose-to-nose with a third drone. Making things worse, the sound of hurried footsteps behind him told Ron that the first two drones had now reversed course and were bearing down on him from the rear.

Panic began to set in, and he instinctively did the first thing that popped into his mind: He ducked.

Ron felt the force of the drone's punch as it sailed over the top of his head, coming so close to connecting that it actually tussled his cowlick. The sensation was quickly followed by the breeze of the first two drones, also sailing over his head, then colliding with the third drone as they went. All three of the attackers quickly collapsed into a heap several feet away.

The self-satisfied smile returned to Ron's face. "Well, _that_ worked out better than I'd planned." he said with a self-congratulatory tone.

"Hurk, yay!" Rufus squeaked, emerging from his owner's hip pocket.

He turned back toward where Dementor had been standing, just in time to see the boot of another drone coming down on top of him.

A thousand flashbulbs suddenly exploded inside his head, and he had the strange, distant sensation of flight. Time seemed to stand still for the longest of moments, as if reality itself had ceased to exist. Then, he felt a sudden tug at his collar, and he groggily looked up to see the figure of Kim silhouetted against the night sky. Her left hand had a hold of him by the back of his shirt, while in her right hand she held her grapple gun. Apparently the drone's kick had sent him flying into Kim, and the momentum had carried them both over the cliff. It was only because of Kim's sharp instincts and lightning-quick reflexes that they were still alive.

Slowly regaining his senses as they both swung aimlessly in the night air, he became aware of Kim calling out to him.

"Ron… Ron! Are you okay? Say something!" she commanded, her voice fraught with concern.

"Unnngh!" he grunted as he pulled himself up to wrap his arms around her narrow waist. "I think I'll be feeling that one in the morning, but I'm okay."

"All right, then!" Kim replied, now feeling much better that Ron seemed to be back in the game. "Let's get back topside and finish this thing!"

She pushed the button to retract the cable. The grapple clicked twice, shuddered, and made an unnerving grinding sound.

"_Uh-oh!_"

"Kim! We're dangling from the cliff! This is no time for 'uh-oh!'" Ron franticly insisted.

"Sorry, but there's something wrong with the grapple. It feels like a gear is slipping." Kim informed him. "You got any ideas?"

"Hmmmm… We could climb up the cable. You always rock at that in gym class." Ron suggested.

No good." Kim replied. "That's with a stout rope that I can get a good grip on. With a cable, there's nothing to hold onto."

"Okay then, uhhhh, give me a second here…"

"Could you hurry, please and thank you?" Kim called down, a sudden tone of desperation evident in her voice.

Somewhat perplexed by this change in her demeanor, Ron looked up at Kim. A full moon had by now begun to rise in the eastern sky, providing just enough light to see the contorted expression on her face. She wasn't used to supporting both their weights, and her hands and arms were starting to cramp up. She wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, and although she tried desperately not to show it, Ron could tell that panic was starting to set in.

Ron began to search desperately for a way out of their current sitch. The cliff was too far away, and even if it wasn't, it was a sheer face with nowhere to grab hold. It was still too dark to see the ocean below them, but the muffled sound of the surf told him that they were too far up to risk a jump. He silently cursed himself for not bringing his own grapple, but one could never tell for certain just what gear one would need on a mission, and there was only so much cargo one could fit into a pair of cargo pants.

"Uhhh, I've got nothing down here!" he called up to Kim.

"Anything at all would be good right now!" she called back, the anguish in her voice now much more pronounced.

This was quickly becoming one of the tightest spots that they had ever been in. Ron franticly wracked his brain, searching for anything, _anything,_ that could get them out of this, but as hard as he tried, he drew a blank.

_Well, that wasn't entirely true…_

After several agonizing moments, he reluctantly came to the conclusion that they only had one option left on the table. The very thought of it made him sick to his stomach, but it was all he had, and he was willing to do anything to save the life of his only true friend in the world.

He gently reached into his hip pocket and withdrew Rufus, transferring the tiny creature to the pocket of Kim's olive-green cargos. Kim glanced down, wondering what her best friend was up to.

"Kim," Ron called up again, his words suddenly hesitant and sullen. "I'm… I'm going to let go."

"_WHAT?"_ Kim shrieked, her expression suddenly turning to something one would normally expect from a San Francisco detective who was just informed that he's Dirty Harry's new partner. "Would you mind repeating that? I think I had something _crazy_ in my ear!"

"KP," Ron explained. "I know the grapple won't pull both our weights, and you're a lot lighter than I am. I'm willing to bet it's still got enough power to pull you up solo."

"Think about this for a sec, Ron!" Kim screamed. "It's like four hundred feet down from here or something. If you let go, you'll be killed!"

Ron locked his gaze with Kim's, his brown eyes boring straight into her soul, conveying a love and a devotion which defied comprehension. Her heart felt like it was caught in a vice, and her breathing became shallow and difficult.

"I'm sorry, KP," he finally said. "But the options box is empty." He sighed deeply, before continuing.

"When we first started this whole 'save-the-world-thing,' we both knew this moment might someday come. That someday we'd find ourselves in a no-win scenario, and that only one of us would wind-up going home." He sighed again, glancing down toward the water.

"You're the one who needs to go on… not me. You're Kim Possible: The girl who can do anything. Me… I'm just the goofy sidekick. In the grand scheme of things, my death really doesn't matter that much."

"Ron!" Kim cried out, tears now streaming down her cheeks. She had long since forgotten the pain in her hands. "You're not just my sidekick, you're my _partner_, and my best friend! Don't you see, I can't save the world without you! I need you, Ron! I… I _love_ you!" The last sentence she was barely able to choke out between sobs, which now flowed uncontrollably from within her.

"I… I love you to, Kimberly Anne Possible." Ron said through tears of his own. "That's why I have to do this."

Kim looked down at the love of her life, the person who had been her constant companion and closest confidant throughout nearly her entire existence. His devotion to her was so great that he was ready and willing to give up his own life to save her. One of her tears fell from her cheek and dropped onto his.

"Have a good life." he said, taking one last, loving look into the emerald green eyes which had captivated him ever since childhood.

And with that, he simply slipped away, quickly being swallowed by the inky-black shadows below.

"ROOOOOOONNNN!" Kim wailed at the top of her lungs.

There was no answer.

"_ROOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN!"_ she screamed out again, but the only response was the sound of the surf far below.

Kim was beside herself with grief. She spent several minutes hanging there in the emptiness, repeatedly calling out his name. Her mind tumbled like a raging torrent, thinking of all the wonderful things which were now lost to her forever. She would never again gaze into those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. Eyes filled with love and tenderness, which could captivate her very soul. She would never again feel his gentle touch upon her cheek, nor taste the warmth of his kiss. She would never become his wife… they would never make love… she would never bear his children. Everything that he was, everything that he had meant to her, all of it was simply… _gone._

Sobbing uncontrollably, and with tears now virtually pouring from her eyes, Kim said a silent and final goodbye to her life-long friend. Then, without so much as a word, she pushed the retract button on the grapple once again, rising up toward the cliff top, racing desperately away from the place where they had parted.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Okay… okay… Before everybody opens up with the flame-throwers because I just killed-off their favorite character, let me say one thing:

Don't count your sidekicks before they splat!

What in the flippin' heck do I mean by this? You'll just have to wait for chapter five to find out. (Insert creepy, evil laugh here)

"Danke," simply means "thanks" in German. I can't be clever all the time, dammit!

Also, here's a hint for anyone still trying to solve the trivia question from chapter one: The person in question was a famous professional golfer, who was known for his machine-like consistency and his fanatical devotion to practice. Luck wound up playing a big part in his life, especially in the one incident where he unexpectedly wound up "catching a bus." The winner receives a hearty hand clasp and a copy of last year's calendar!


	5. Trial by Fire

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter Five**

What was it about super-villains and standardization, anyway?

In appearance, the lair was virtually identical to every other bastion of evil she had ever encountered. There was a large, circular, central chamber with a raised platform running along its entire circumference. Along the platform, there were banks upon banks of computer consoles, accompanied by various high-voltage transformers and storage tanks of that mysterious green fluid which seemed to serve no purpose. An over-sized video screen stood to one side, while all around the lower portion of the room, doorways led to various antechambers and storage areas. Rising above all of this, a great, vaulted dome soared menacingly overhead.

All together, it was a quite impressive, albeit familiar sight. If Ron had been there, he would have surely made some wisecrack about interior design, or evil building codes.

_But Ron wasn't there_…

For Kim Possible, the great teen hero and savior of the world, this was truly dark territory. As it stood, she had little memory of what had happened immediately following Ron's suicidal plunge. By the time she had managed to haul herself back over the edge of the cliff, her mind had gone into full shutdown mode. She could vaguely remember clawing her way back onto solid ground, and finding a squad of synthodrones waiting there to meet her. She hadn't even bothered to resist when they had grabbed her and dragged her into the lair, shackling her wrists and ankles to the large device, which she now found herself bound to.

Rufus chattered franticly from a small cage a few feet away, trying desperately to get his female human back in the game, but his efforts proved fruitless. For Kim, the shock of losing Ron was simply too much. Awash in a sea of grief and misery, her senses became numb, and her iron-clad resolve waned. It was as if when Ron had died, a small piece of herself had died along with him, and without that piece she simply ceased to function.

In a way, she ceased to be herself.

"Vell, vell, vell…;" the heavily accented voice called out from behind her. "Not nearly so vocal right now, are vee?"

Upon seeing Dementor, Kim simply closed her eyes and hung her head. By all reason, she should have been struggling against her restraints with every ounce of strength she had, desperately trying to rip out the heart of the person who had taken from her the one thing in all the world which she held most dear.

For the life of her, however, she couldn't muster the strength. She was emotionally dead inside; beyond anger, beyond sorrow, beyond anything besides pure numbness. She just plain didn't care anymore. All she wanted was to be back where she felt alive; back where everything made sense; back where she felt she belonged. All she wanted was to be back by Ron's side.

Peripherally she was aware that Dementor had gone into another of his patented rants, bragging about his brilliant plan and how no one could stop him now. He spoke of how, when the machine was activated, 10,000 volts would flow through the conduit she was bound to, and by virtue of that, through her.

Even this particularly gruesome detail barely registered with her. The prospect of being transformed into a charcoal briquette seemed pale by comparison to the anguish she was already suffering. Besides, once it was over, she would be with Ron again, and that thought gave her some strange and bizarre sense of peace.

"Achtung! How long until ze target is in range?" Dementor bellowed to a henchman seated at a nearby console.

"Five minutes, twenty-four seconds until satellite interface uplink!" came the henchman's snappy reply.

"Ah… excellent!" Dementor replied giddily before turning to another henchman. "Deploy the telemetric interception transmitter!"

"Jawohl!" the henchman replied enthusiastically, and his fingers fairly flew across his own console. Within moments, the gargantuan dome above them began to open, accompanied by a corresponding opening in the floor. From the latter of these orifices, a tall, slender device began to emerge, towering ever larger above the chamber as more and more of its length was revealed. It rose from the floor like a demonic tree, and upon reaching its full height, deployed a satellite dish-like array from its apex, resembling some sort of grotesque blossom.

"Und now, install ze _Positrinic Power Modulator!_" Dementor shouted, the sinister grin upon his face growing ever larger.

Yet another henchman shot up out of his seat and dashed down a hall just behind Kim's position, carrying the PPM with him as he went. Moments later, he returned with empty hands.

"Two minutes, seven seconds to interface!" the first henchman called out again.

"Ach… Start ze timer!" Dementor commanded, pointing to the large video screen along the far side of the chamber. "Deez things are always so much more dramatic vhen zhere iz a countdown!"

As if on cue, the image of a digital clock appeared on the screen, its oversized numbers counting down the seconds until the monstrous machine would be activated; the last seconds of Kim's life.

Kim felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over her as she remembered Ron's last words. _"Have a good life,"_ he had said. He had wanted her to move on, to live a full life and ultimately find some measure of happiness throughout it all. This was why he had done what he had done. This was why he had made the supreme sacrifice.

If only he had realized what a crock of hooey that was, she thought. How the heck was she supposed to ever find happiness without him? Did he really think that she could just pick-up the pieces, find another guy, and live happily ever after? Was he really that monumentally _dense?_

Then, in a moment of absolute clarity, she realized that, in a sense, he was. He had been completely oblivious to the significance he had in her life. He had no clue regarding just how much he meant to her, and it was all for the simplest of reasons.

She had never told him… 

Oh sure, she had told him that she loved him when they were dangling like fish bait from the end of the grapple, but that was just a gut-check response, uttered in the heat of the moment. The fact that it was true had little impact on the overall situation.

The big picture was that she had never taken the time to really sit down and convey her feelings in a meaningful way that would have made him understand. She had never articulated just how much she relied on him, depended on him, how she found his mere presence to be reassuring, how in a crazy world full of villainy and evil masterminds, he was the one thing that made her feel safe, that made her invincible, that made her Kim Possible.

Perhaps, in some small way, her own death would serve as penance for this failure, she thought. It was the only thing she had left to give him.

As the final seconds ran off of the giant clock, a computerized voice began a countdown from ten, and Dementor stepped forward to a large lever mounted on a particularly ominous-looking console. With as much pomp and pageantry as he could muster, he took hold of the device and loudly proclaimed for all in the room to hear: "Let history record Professor Dementor as ze greatest villain who ever lived!"

Kim clenched her teeth and winced as the giant lever fell, and the synthesized voice shouted _"ZERO!"_

---------

If there was actually such a thing as a "deafening silence," then this was it. The anticipation was almost palpable, and yet the world stood so quiet that Kim swore she could hear herself sweating. This overwhelming deprivation of sound hung in the air like a thick fog, enveloping all that it touched. Silently, Kim wondered if she was dead, and if eternity was in fact nothing more than an utter lack of existence.

Then, from the utter void, there came a voice. It was not the voice of an angelic choir, or of long-departed loved ones calling her home, but one of a distinct familiarity, and one not to be expected in this place:

"Scheisse!" 

Warily, Kim opened one eye and glanced around…

She was still in Dementor's lair; still surrounded by all the consoles and equipment. Dementor was clicking the lever up and down violently, muttering something under his breath in German. Kim couldn't understand what he was saying, having opted instead to take French and Latin in school, but she felt she could venture a pretty good guess as to his meaning.

He began barking orders to the henchmen, who in turn began scurrying about like caffeinated ferrets, desperately trying to deduce what had gone wrong. They checked displays, ran diagnostic programs, and began pulling access panels from their mountings. Then, a new voice called out from the shadows that lined the perimeter of the room…

"So sorry about that… Was this do-hickey important?"

All heads in the room turned in unison to face a mysterious figure, concealed within the shadows. No distinguishing features could be seen through the gloom, but a small cylindrical device was clearly present within the stranger's hand.

"_Acht!"_ Dementor cried out. "Ze Positronic Power Modulator!" He was clearly enraged by the prospect of a saboteur having been able to slip past his characteristically tight security.

"Who are you?" Dementor asked, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"I am your worst nightmare." the figure stated flatly, stuffing the PPM into its pack.

"You mean ze one vhere I go to ze store vithout my pants?" Dementor asked, perplexed.

"Uhhh… no."

"Ze one about ze two-headed, fire-breathing snake?"

"Nooooooo…" 

There was a long, thoughtful pause.

"Another Adam Sandler movie?"

"Moving _on!_"

"Vell, you still haven't answered my question!" Dementor pointed out, clearly becoming more and more irritated by the minute. _"Who are you?!"_

"Let's just call me an interested party." the figure said as it finally began to step forward from the shadows.

All eyes strained to see in the dimly lit room as the silhouette slowly emerged from the dingy darkness of the lair's recesses. Faint beams of light traced their way up the line of its legs, coming to reveal its torso and chest, and then…

The sound of two-dozen jaws hitting the floor made for a unique accent point indeed as the mystery person fully emerged from his concealment. A multitude of murmurs raced through the assembled henchmen, expressing their collective shock at the sight that beheld them, but none were more shocked than Kim.

Standing before her, no more than six feet away, was _Ron._

All of her thoughts froze solid as her mind tried desperately to wrap itself around what her eyes were witnessing. His clothes weren't even wet. It could just be some sort of grief-induced hallucination, she thought, but then it was obvious from the reaction of the henchmen that they could see him too. It might be a ghost, but he seemed so _real._ Weren't ghosts supposed to be transparent or "floaty" in some way? She could even smell a faint whiff of his cologne, and she seriously doubted that ghosts wore aftershave.

Finally, after what must have qualified for the title of "Most awkward pause in history," Dementor broke the silence.

"Vell, vell hero thief. You are either very skilled or very lucky, no? Tell me, how did you survive zat fall?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story…" Ron began, "but I have this thing called 'Mystical Monkey Power,' and…"

"Yah, I know!" Dementor broke in. "I read ze papers, too. Get to ze point, already!"

"Okay, okay… _Sheesh!_" Ron retorted. "Anyway, it turns out that there's also this 'mystical floaty-thing' that's part of the package, and well… I guess I managed to tap into that on the way down."

Although it took her a moment, Kim quickly caught on to Ron's meaning. She had seen this power in action just a few months before, when she, Ron and Yori had gone to rescue Monkey Fist and Sensei from the clutches of D. N. Amy. In their harrowing plunge from the waterfall that day, Sensei had used this power to save himself from certain death.

…_Now Ron had done the same._

Dementor stared ahead blankly, locked in disbelief of this claim. "You have excellent timing then, it vould seem." he stated mockingly. "How did you manage to come by zis power vhen you did?"

"Dunno…" Ron said with a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose it had something to do with the combination of adrenalin and sheer terror, but I think it was mostly because of something else entirely."

"Yah, und vots dat?" Dementor asked with mock disinterest.

"…That I still have a job to do." Ron replied with a confident grin, and with that he stole a sideways glance at Kim, and winked.

Kim stole a gasp of air and swallowed hard. That had been the key, after all… The key which had allowed him to reach deep, down within himself, and unlock the hidden strength of the Monkey Powers when he needed them most. It had been his utter and total unwillingness to leave her side, an instinct so strong, so elemental that even death itself could not silence it.

"Hmpf..." Dementor scoffed, seemingly unimpressed with Ron's newfound ability. "Und you think zat dis ability to fly will help you now?"

With that, he reached over to press a large, red button on a neighboring console and a series of pneumatic doors sprung open in the nearby walls, revealing several-dozen synthodrones, many of them armed with laser swords.

"Not really," Ron replied, paying no attention to the drones, which were quickly arranging themselves into an attack formation. "But then again, floating isn't the only mad skill that I picked-up down there."

"Really?" Dementor asked with a raised eyebrow. "Vell then, do enlighten us as to vhat else you learned."

"_Enlighten_ you? Can-do, bucket-head!" Ron shot back.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Ron drew himself up out of his characteristic slouch to a fully erect position. He crossed his arms over his chest, and then slowly… deliberately… he began to speak.

"Through brightest day and darkest night…" 

A strong draft suddenly began to blow through the lair, pulling papers and other debris across the cavernous space. The murmurs of the henchmen started in earnest once more as everyone realized that these strange winds were centering on the young, blond boy standing before them, creating a miniature whirlwind around him.

"No evil shall escape my sight…" 

Bolts of electricity momentarily crackled along the length of his legs and torso as he raised his arms high above his head.

"Upholding truth and all that's right…" 

The entire room seemed to tremble with the force of a distant earthquake, and small fissures formed in the floor tiles around him.

"Behold the power, OF MONKEY MIGHT!!!" 

---------

…And then there was light. …A light like none before it. A light so bright that one could swear it would have outshone the noonday sun. A light so great in its intensity that it compelled all in its presence to avert their gaze, lest their retinas be forever seared by its fiery brilliance.

It may have taken several moments, but the intense light finally subsided enough so that Kim and the others could look directly at Ron once again, and when they did, they found themselves completely unprepared for the sight which confronted them.

Ron was bathed in a brilliant bluish-white glow. It was somewhat similar in color to Hego's glow, Kim thought, recalling their adventure in Chicago with the super-strong superhero and his brothers. However, where Hego's glow had drifted lazily around him like some sort of ethereal aura, Ron's glow seemed to explode from each and every pore of his body. It burned with the intensity of a blowtorch, emerging, then rolling upwards with the strength and speed of a jet engine's exhaust.

His eyes had been transformed from their usual brown into roiling orbs of brilliant blue, and bolts of electricity rolled up and down along the length of his body. Whatever power it was that he had tapped into, it was damned impressive to say the least!

He reached his right hand above his head, as if to indicate something above him, and uttered a one-word command:

"Come!" 

There was another flash of light, forcing the observers to look away once again. When their eyes re-adjusted, Ron was holding a beautiful Japanese katana, which he had seemingly produced from nowhere.

The weapon was the very image of simple elegance, lacking any ornamentation which it did not require for its purpose. The long, gently curving blade had a slight taper, and gleamed like a mirror in the admittedly dim light of the lair. The hilt shone brilliantly of gold, and the handle carried an intricate, hand-wrapped pattern of black and gold diamonds.

Kim had never seen the sword before, but she instinctively knew that this was the fabled Lotus Blade which Ron and Yori had both mentioned during their mission to save Sensei. It had been suggested to her that Ron was somehow linked to the blade, destined by fate to wield its tremendous magical power against the forces of evil, and his surprising ability to conjure the weapon at will seemed to mesh well with this theory.

Then, briskly, and with a confidence Kim had never seen in him before, Ron stepped forward, taking a position directly between her and the drones.

This was where he would make his stand. He would protect Kim, no matter what the cost. There would be no retreat, and no surrender. This was the showdown at the OK Corral; winner take all.

He twirled the sword about in front of him, swinging it through a graceful "figure-eight" pattern before drawing it back behind himself in a backhand grip. He assumed a fighting stance, and with his free hand, motioned for the drones to "bring it on." The was an intensity and a determination in his eyes that few people who knew him would have thought him capable of. It was the ultimate "serious face."

Two drones charged, weapons at the ready. Ron took two steps forward, then, in a blinding flash, lashed out with the Lotus Blade, whipping it across his body in a violent horizontal slash. The blow caught the lead drone squarely in the midsection, instantaneously disemboweling the synthetic being.

Continuing the motion from this initial strike, Ron brought the blade back forward, this time in an aggressive, backhand stab. The second drone never stood a chance, as it was quickly impaled upon the razor-sharp blade.

Another drone took this opportunity to launch its own attack, charging with its sword held high above its head. Switching to a forehand grip, Ron raised the Lotus Blade above his own head to deflect the blow, then, with a speed that would have impressed even a martial arts master, he lashed out with two quick strikes, carving a perfect "X" across the drone's chest.

Yet another drone now attacked from the rear, having circled around behind its opponent in the confusion of the battle. Ron flipped the Lotus Blade up over his head and behind himself to block the attack, then spun around in an aggressive 180-degree slashing motion, which severed the drone cleanly in two.

From his vantage point several yards away, Professor Dementor found it difficult to comprehend the scene unfolding before him. This, after all, was not the sidekick's usual fighting style. Far from the more familiar "dodge-and-weave" tactics he normally displayed, Ron was standing his ground, facing the attacks head on and repulsing them in turn. The monkey powers certainly did wonders in enhancing his skills, but it was this sudden burst of courage which was truly proving problematic for his forces.

There was a sickening "_pop_" as the last drone of the first wave fell to the floor. Ron had thrown a punch with his left hand, which had penetrated the drone's chest, and exited through its back.

More than two-dozen drones still surrounded him, roughly arranged in a semi-circle just a few yards away. He pulled back into a crouch, drawing the enchanted blade up behind him into a stance that resembled a major-league hitter, digging in at the plate. The intensity of the battle to this point had left him drenched in syntho-goo, and a large glop of the greenish-gel slowly dripped down the length of the blade, running across his hands, then dropping to the floor.

The drones seemed to momentarily regard the young man before them, now bathed in the synthetic blood of their comrades. Their unblinking, monochromatic gazes returned only with the identical gaze of their opponent. Then, something happened which had never happened before; something which should not be possible from synthetic beings, devoid of human emotion.

…_One of the drones took a step back._

"_No!_" Ron growled, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. _"There is no escape!"_

With that remark, he raised his weapon high above his head, and with a scream that would have curdled the blood of even the most battle-hardened warrior, he thrust the blade deep into the floor before him.

The impact unleashed a brilliant shockwave, sweeping outward in all directions, cracking and buckling the concrete floor as it went. The formation of synthodrones disintegrated under this onslaught, its members being crushed and torn asunder at once. Several of their number were pitched against a nearby wall where they exploded like bugs on a giant windshield.

Henchmen dove for cover as the wave continued unabated, rolling across the room, overloading circuits and blowing out consoles. The large storage tanks cracked, then shattered, disgorging their eerie-green contents throughout the lower reaches of the lair. The gigantic device in the center of the room was torn free from its mounting blocks, and crashed to the floor, arcing and spewing sparks as it went.

By the time the wave finally dissipated along the far wall of the complex, the destruction was complete, and for the first time during the entire ordeal, Dementor was left speechless. His grandiose plan, the scheme which he had spent so long and worked so hard in brining to this point, was now little more than a smoldering ruin. He had been mere moments away from success, only to crash and burn on approach, and the words simply did not exist to adequately describe his dismay.

For Ron, the psychological condition of the miniature megalomaniac was the farthest thing from his mind. He had matters of far greater importance to attend to.

Withdrawing the Lotus Blade from the now shattered floor, he moved quickly to where Kim still hung from the massive piece of electrical equipment. Kim cringed briefly as he raised the blade above his head once again, not certain as to what these new powers may have done to his judgment, or for that matter, his aim.

She needn't have worried, as two lightning-quick swipes severed the manacles which bound her to the device, and she slid unceremoniously to the floor. Gently rubbing her sore wrists, she regained her feet, just in time so see the blue glow in Ron's eyes replaced by the much more familiar brown, and the fiery aura which surrounded him quickly fade, then flicker, before finally winking from existence.

He took a step forward, wobbled slightly, then dropped to his knees, clutching his forehead with both hands.

"Ohhhhh, man… Brain freeze!" he moaned softly. "It's like some sort of mystical monkey hang-over or something."

In an instant, Kim was by his side, propping-up his shoulders to prevent him from collapsing to the floor completely. He knelt there, hunched over, and she noticed the pronounced heaving of his shoulders as he gasped for air. His body was completely spent, having thrown every last ounce of strength he could muster into the fight. He had left it all out on the field this night… He had done what he had felt compelled to do.

"Are… are you okay, baby?" Kim finally asked, once Ron's breathing became somewhat more regular.

"I… I think so." he stammered between still heavy breaths. "Man, that's some head rush, there."

"You're absolutely sure you're okay," Kim prodded, more for her own assurance than for Ron's, "because if you're hurt in any way…"

With that thought, Kim froze in mid-sentence, her mind racing through all that had happened over the last hour: The melee on the cliff, the fall, the climactic battle against the drones. With all that Ron had been through, it was an absolute miracle that he wasn't dismembered or dead right now.

Suddenly, Kim felt herself being overcome by a wave of emotions; fear at the prospect of having almost lost him, relief that she hadn't, and prideful joy in his accomplishment, in that he had been able to dig deep and find the inner strength he needed, just when she needed him.

Without warning, she collapsed into his arms, turning the tables by suddenly forcing Ron to support her. She sobbed uncontrollably into his shirt, thoroughly soaking the black fabric. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed so tightly that Ron feared his ribs might crack. She never wanted to let him go.

Ron responded by simply returning Kim's embrace. He buried his face in her hair and lightly kissed the top of her head. He may not have been the brightest bulb in the marquee sign, but he knew enough to keep his big mouth shut in this sitch. Kim needed this moment right now, and as always, he was more than willing to oblige her.

They stayed this way for the longest of moments, simply allowing themselves to be enraptured by each other's presence. There was something natural about it all, as if all the forces of the cosmos had willed that this moment should come to be.

The two of them were so deep in their own thoughts that they barely noticed the massive explosion, which suddenly seemed to rock the lair to its very foundations. The green liquid from the shattered storage tanks had crossed paths with live electrical wires from a smashed transformer, and the result was a firestorm. (Whatever that green stuff was, it was apparently flammable.) Sirens wailed, and sprinklers in the ceiling sprung to life, although the water they emitted did little to stem the advancing inferno. The few henchmen who had remained to this point, now fled the complex in terror.

"Uhhh, unless you have any better ideas, I'd suggest running." Ron said nervously.

"Yeah, good call." Kim replied, as the two of them began rushing for the exit, Ron grabbing Rufus from his cage as they went.

"_Wait!_" Ron suddenly called out, abruptly pulling up short. "What about Dementor?"

"He's a big boy, Ron! He can take care of himself!"

"Yeah, that's not what I meant… umm… uh… _whatever!_"

And with that he was off to the races, chasing a flowing mane of brilliant red hair.

---------

**Author's Notes:**

Well, here I sit, kicking back in front of the computer with a bottle of root beer and contemplating another chapter completed. I'm still amazed by everything that's happened here, as this story is quickly evolving and running into areas which I never anticipated exploring when I first laid down the outline. I believe someone once said that a story is like a living thing… There seems to be more truth to that statement than I had previously thought.

_Translation time!_ This is for the benefit of all those whose German is a little rusty. I myself am included in this group, as my knowledge of the language is limited to what I've picked-up from watching reruns of Hogan's Heroes on Nick Nite. (Thank God for online dictionaries!)

_Jawohl:_ This word can best be translated as meaning "Yes sir." It's often used when addressing a superior.

_Achtung:_ Occasionally used as an exclamatory, this is the German word for "Attention."

_Scheise:_ I can't print the literal translation of this word here without having to change the rating of the story. Needless to say, the English equivalent is a certain four-letter word, which means "manure." (Let your imaginations run wild here, folks.)

Anyhooooo, chapter six is currently under construction, and should be available for your reading pleasure in about two weeks or so. I want to personally thank everyone who has posted comments regarding this work, as the enthusiasm of the fanfiction community in this respect has helped to stir the creative juices on more than one occasion. As usual, I invite anyone who is so inclined to post a comment or suggestion. I always welcome reader input, as it assures me that I actually have readers. (I have been known to wonder, on occasion.)

Also, based on several suggestions, which I received, I've gone back to the previous chapters and replaced the spelling of "Dimentor" with "Dementor." _(Don't say that I never listen to you guys!)_

Until next time… _Peace out, dudes!_

Nutzkie…


	6. Mad Dog Fight

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter Six**

This was starting to get seriously old… 

After dashing out of the now burning lair, the two heroes had quickly found themselves standing atop the same ledge which they had first landed on an hour before. This time, of course, there was no squad of synthodrones waiting to greet them, but that didn't make the memory of this particular spot any less painful.

Or the memory of what had happened forty feet below it, for that matter.

"Ya' know, of all the places that I'd like to re-visit, this isn't even on the list." Ron quipped, clearly indicating that he'd had his fill of this particular piece of real estate.

"Well, we'd better think of a way off of it then, shouldn't we." Kim replied, stating the obvious.

On the cliff high above them, Dementor's lair was now fully engulfed in flames. Large explosions continually rocked the structure, sending chunks of flaming debris flying in all directions. To Kim, it seemed as though she was standing directly underneath the Middleton Fourth of July fireworks display. The sight was every bit impressive as it was unnerving.

Moving up the cliff was out of the question, as it would only take them closer to the danger that they were trying to escape. Moving down the cliff was only slightly better, as it most likely represented a dead end. (That was one phrase which always raised Ron's heart rate.)

Two sets of eyes darted about in the darkness, looking for a third option. Then, Kim noticed something that had been overlooked in the confusion of the previous battle here. To their right, there was a narrow path leading from the ledge, around a sharp bend in the cliff. She didn't know where it led, but it was something, and anything was better than what they had right now, which was nothing.

"C'mon… This way!" she shouted at Ron, running toward the path. Ron obediently followed suit, racing around the bend, and stopping short at the sight of another cliff, exactly like the one that they had just left.

"Awwwww man!" he whined. "It's like déjà vu!"

"You can say that again." Kim lamented.

"It's like déjà vu!"

Kim shot a sideways glance at her boyfriend, not sure whether to laugh, or slap him silly for that cornball remark.

"Well, this obviously isn't helping." Kim finally stated. "Let's go back and try something else."

Ron was just about to turn and follow Kim when Rufus began chattering wildly from his pocket.

"Hey, KP!" he called out. "I think Rufus sees something!"

Sure enough, Rufus had spotted something which his humans had missed. Being a rodent, his senses were more acute than a human's. It was an excellent tool for survival in a world where virtually everything was bigger than you are.

Recessed into the cliff and hidden by the shadows that clung to its base, unbeknownst to either of the two teens, there was a large grotto, and while the mere mention of that word may have sent a shiver down Ron's spine, its presence warranted investigation.

Slipping silently through the entrance, Ron and Kim soon found themselves shrouded in total darkness. It was the kind of darkness that prevents one from even seeing the proverbial "hand-in-front-of-your-face," and it only served to heighten Ron's anxiety.

"Let's shed some light on the subject, shall we?" Kim said, finding a large switch on the wall near the grotto's entrance.

Floodlights suspended from the ceiling burst to life, flooding the grotto with light. The two heroes shielded their eyes momentarily, allowing their pupils time to adapt. When they finally found themselves capable of observing their surroundings, they were truly surprised by what they saw.

There, in the center of the room, was the strangest looking aircraft that Kim had ever seen. It was small by comparison to the military transports that she was used to traveling on, but it was definitely still military in its origin. It featured an oversized Plexiglas canopy, which gave it somewhat of a hunch-backed look, and a pair of large, semi-circular air intakes were mounted to each side, just behind the cockpit. The entire assembly stood astride two sets of main landing gear, arranged to the front and back, resembling the wheels of a bicycle. A pair of smaller wheels deployed from each of the wings, in a fashion similar to the outriggers of a Polynesian canoe.

Kim regarded the plane with a combination of curiosity and confusion. What was it doing here? Was it part of Dementor's scheme? Over against the far wall there was a stack of electronic jamming pods, indicating that Dementor had been running small-scale field tests in a run-up to his recently thwarted plot. She was so deep in these thoughts, that she didn't even notice the eager grin, which had slowly spread across Ron's face. By the time she looked up, Ron was already climbing a conveniently-placed step ladder into the open cockpit.

"Uh, just what are you doing?" Kim asked with great confusion.

"Saving our sorry hides, if that's all right." came Ron's sarcastic reply.

"Oh _puh-lease_ Ron, you don't know how to fly a…"

The remainder of her sentence stuck in Kim's mouth, as the strange craft suddenly sprang to life. The sound of compressors and turbine blades winding up soon filled the chamber, and within moments the engine itself roared its concurrence.

"Are you coming, or are you gonna wait and take the train?" Ron shouted above the din.

Suddenly, Kim wasn't certain about anything going on around her. It seemed almost other-worldly that Ron had been able to power-up this craft. Weirder still, was that he seemed confident in his ability to _fly_ it.

At first, she was hesitant to step forward, but then she thought of everything that had already happened that night. Ron had shown a level of skill, which exceeded all expectations that she had of him. He had displayed courage and ability under fire that defied explanation, and done it all without any of his characteristic "big headiness."

She could trust him here, she concluded. If he could fly from cliffs and conjure swords, then piloting a jet really wasn't much of a stretch. She briskly dashed forward, vaulting into the cockpit as Ron closed the protective bubble of the canopy around them.

---------

Ordinarily, Ron Stoppable would be the last one to call himself an "aviation enthusiast." To him, airplanes were just another way to get from point "A" to point "B." They were no different that cars, trains or jet skis. Simple transportation… and nothing more.

However, as he sat in the cockpit of this odd-looking aircraft, which he had never seen in person before, he felt as if he was in his second home. The surroundings seemed intimately familiar to him, like and old friend that had dropped by for a visit.

In a sense, the T/AV-8B Harrier _was_ like an old friend to him. About a year before, his lifetime love of all-things video games had led him into the realm of flight simulators, and through this he had developed a true love for the little jet. He had, by this point, idled away literally hundreds of hours flying a digital replica of the plane through cyberspace, learning its characteristics and idiosyncrasies, taking it into virtual combat, and learning how to win.

He even felt a sort of kinship with the plane, if that wasn't too weird of a concept. It was, after all, a lot like himself. It was small compared to its peers, lacking their speed and sleek looks. It seemed awkward and misshapen in its appearance, not at all evoking an image that one would find threatening. Most people were quick to dismiss it as a simple novelty, and pay it little to no attention.

But make no mistake about it… The strange little jet was deadly.

In the hands of an experienced pilot, the Harrier was a fearsome opponent. It was a nimble dogfighter, a lethal ground-attack craft, a stable gun platform, and he had come to know it better, perhaps, than he even knew himself.

A quick glance over the controls told him that there had been some modifications to this particular specimen. The familiar analog gauges and panels had been replaced by digital touch screens, but the overall layout seemed to be the same, and he found little difficulty in locating all of the necessary controls. A gentle nudge of the throttle soon had them rolling forward, out of the grotto and toward the edge of the cliff.

"Uh, Ron…" Kim called out nervously from her position in the cockpit's rear seat. "You do realize that there's no runway, right?"

"Don't need one." Ron stated plainly, and quickly adjusted the plane's thrust nozzles for vertical takeoff. The ability to take-off and land vertically was a unique feature of the Harrier's design, and one of many reasons he was so enthralled with the plane.

Within moments, they were airborne and free of the cliff. Ron pitched the nose of the plane slightly downward, using the shallow dive to gain airspeed, then gently pulled up into a gradual climb. He banked slowly to his right, following the line of the coast, and both teens took the opportunity to look over their shoulders and view their handiwork.

The lair was now a raging inferno, with large sections of the structure already starting to collapse inward. Dementor may have escaped capture this night, but with the level of damage they had done, both Kim and Ron doubted that they would be hearing anything from the diminutive dictator for quite some time.

Bringing the wings back to a level position, Ron continued to gradually gain altitude. "Booyah!" he sing-songed. "Thank-you for flying Ron-Air!"

"Ron-Air?" Kim asked sarcastically. "I swear, if you start singing 'Sweet Home Alabama,' I'm hitting the eject button."

Ron nervously coughed into his fist, and rolled his eyes. Kim placed her forehead into the palm of her hand and heaved a forlorn sigh.

"That's _exactly_ what you were going to do, wasn't it?"

"Mmmm… maybe." came the sheepish reply.

"Swell… Just try to get us in touch with wade, okay."

"Can do, KP." came the snappy reply. "Rufus, front and center, buddy!"

The pink rodent fairly shot out of his master's pocket, darting into the back seat, and returning momentarily with the Kimunicator. He pulled a small cable from the back of the unit and plugged it into a data port located just underneath the cockpit's control panel. Finally, he wedged the unit firmly between the side of the cockpit and Ron's ejection seat.

"Way to be, _Rufus!_" Ron said enthusiastically. "Our communications are now hands-free, KP."

With that remark, he reached down and pushed the call button on the small, aquamarine device.

"This is Mad Dog and Valkyrie calling Rubber Duck… Come in Rubber Duck! Do you copy, over!" Ron called out.

It only took a few moments before the familiar image of Wade appeared on one of the cockpit video screens.

"What the heck did you just call me?" Wade asked.

"It's a code-name, dude." Ron explained. "'Cause, you know, your Wade… and ducks like water, and… uh… well… _look, I had to think of something fast, okay!_"

"Okay, okay… just calm down Mad Dog." Wade replied, not entirely sure as to what was causing Ron's strange behavior _this_ time around. "So what's up?"

"We need you to plot us a course back to civilization." Kim said, peering out from behind Ron. "Think you can hook us up?"

"Piece of cake!" Wade replied.

"No thanks, I ate before the mission." Ron broke in.

"Yeaaaaaahhh… I'll get right on… that." Wade said in return. "By the way, did you guys hijack a plane or something?"

"Long story, Wade… Tell you when we get back." Kim shot in return.

With that, the young web-master's image disappeared from the screen.

"What was that you called me just then, by the way?" Kim asked once she was sure Wade had closed the connection.

"Whaddaya' mean?" Ron asked, quizzically.

"My code name…" Kim clarified.

"Oh, yeah… You mean that 'Valkyrie' thing?"

"That's the one."

"Well, c'mon KP. You remember Mrs. Baxter's class on Western Religion, don't you?"

"Bits and pieces of it, mostly." Kim admitted. She was normally an excellent student, but that particular class had been about as boring as watching linoleum peel. She was loathe to admit it, but she had actually spent a fair amount of time in that classroom sleeping.

"Well, in ancient Nordic mythology," Ron explained, "the Valkyries were a legendary race of warrior goddesses."

"A warrior goddess?" Kim questioned aloud, taking a moment to think this over.

"Okay… that works." she finally admitted, finding the concept to be strangely satisfying.

"Okay, you're set and locked." Wade suddenly said, returning to the tiny video screen. "I've laid in a course to a small village where you can find lodging for the night, and there's a ride to the airport lined up for the morning."

"As always, Wade, you _rock out!_" Kim chimed.

"I do what I can." Wade replied with a shrug. "By the way, do you guys have an escort, by any chance?"

Ron looked back over his shoulder at Kim, allowing the two teens to exchange confused looks.

"Uhhhh, not that we're aware of." Ron finally replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that I'm detecting three unidentified aircraft on an intercept course with you."

"Can you _identify_ these unidentified aircraft?" Kim asked in response.

"Accessing surveillance satellites." Wade replied snappily, his fingers clattering across his keyboard. Within moments, the image of Wade had been replaced on the screen by another, causing both heroes to slump dejectedly into their seats.

"Oh fer' cryin' out loud!" Kim moaned.

"What… did Drakken have a _garage sale_ or something?" Ron whined.

The three aircraft now closing in on them off were destructo-droids. Kim and Ron had first faced these colossal machines at the abandon auto plant in Middleton, when they had saved Dr. Freeman from the blue-hued mad scientist and Shego. The ability to fly certainly represented a new wrinkle, but the design was still unmistakable.

Staring intently at the picture on the screen, Ron quickly sized up their opponents. He may not have known much about physics or aerodynamics, but his online experiences had taught him a few things about how the design of a plane affected its performance.

The droids had obviously been designed with speed in mind. The large engines mounted in their legs and their short, stubby wingspans spoke volumes about their performance abilities.

Immediately, Ron could tell that retreating wasn't an option. The Harrier was many things, but fast was not one of them. If he turned tail, the droids would simply run him down like road kill. They were dragsters: speed was their game.

But if the droids were dragsters, then he was a sports car: quick in the turns and light on his feet. Agility was his game, and he quickly formed a plan that he hoped would use this to his advantage.

"Alright Wade…" he said after several seconds. "We've got ourselves a fight, here. I'm gonna need you to be my AWACS."

"Beg pardon?" Wade replied, puzzled. Acronyms normally weren't Ron's strong suit.

"Airborne… Warning… And… Control… System." Ron explained slowly. "I need you to be my big eye in the sky."

"Roger that!" Wade shot back, quickly catching on to Ron's meaning. "I'll keep you posted with what's coming your way."

"Please and thank-you!" Ron replied.

Ron had to momentarily reassure himself that he indeed knew what he was doing. He knew dog-fighting, at least in the virtual sense, and he understood its basic concepts and tactics. He viewed it as a sort of dance… a deadly, aerial ballet, seeking to balance the dual forces of momentum and maneuver. Maintaining air speed was the key to survival, but one couldn't afford to be _too_ conservative in this regard. There was a balance which had to be struck

His hands now racing over the controls, Ron struggled to get the small interceptor ready for combat. He switched the computers and radar from navigation to targeting mode, and activated the onboard FLIR night-vision system. He called up a diagram of the plane on another display, showing the weapons that they had onboard.

At least one thing was going their way right now. The Harrier was equipped with a rather impressive array of firepower. He had a pair of AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles at his disposal, as well as a quartet of AIM-7 Sparrows. For the short-range work, there was a 25-millimeter gatling gun. This bird certainly had some teeth in its beak.

He scowled slightly at the sight of what else he was carrying. There was a pair of HARM missiles and a GBU-31 bomb. Ground attack weapons weren't going to be of much use in a dogfight, and the extra weight they presented would be a problem. Searching through the controls, he quickly found the ordinance release switch, and the plane lurched upwards as 3,600 pounds of high explosive fell harmlessly toward earth.

"What was that?" Kim called out from her position behind Ron, clearly surprised by the sudden shift of the plane.

"It's no big." Ron reassured her. "Just dropping some excess baggage is all. Gotta get down to fighting weight."

"Bogeys inbound on your eight o'clock!" Wade called out over the still-open com-link.

"Copy that!" Ron replied, snapping the visor of his helmet into place. Both he and Kim donned their oxygen masks and braced themselves for the fight ahead. Both were thinking the same thing…

"These particular skies were about to get decidedly _un-_friendly"

The droids were within visual range now, bearing straight toward them. Ron held his course, steadying himself, waiting for the right moment to make his move. There was no room for error here, and if he didn't pull this off _exactly_ as he had planned, then the fight could very well be over before it had even begun. He began whispering to himself from under his mask, trying desperately to calm his own nerves and keep his head in the game.

"Steady…" 

"_Wait for it…"_

"NOW!!!" 

In a single motion, he banked the plane hard left and pulled back into a sharp turn, bleeding off airspeed as he went. The droids tried to follow, but lacking his maneuverability, they quickly overshot him. In a flash, Ron rolled back right, reversing course back into the droids, putting himself right on their tails. He side-slipped into firing position, lining up for a shot at the far-right droid, and within seconds, a low-pitched electronic tone told him that he had a lock. He pulled the trigger, and the sky lit up as a sidewinder streaked away from his left wing. Seconds later, the droid disintegrated into a fireball.

The dogfight was barely ten seconds old, and he had already scored his first kill!

The two remaining droids now split up, one breaking left as the other climbed vertically away. Following the second droid, Ron slammed the throttle forward and over 20,000 pounds of thrust responded, sending the duo surging toward the stratosphere at over 600 knots.

Ron was quickly starting to realize the limitations of his online training. Virtual reality may be impressive in its authenticity, but it was still no match for actual reality. All of the force-feedback joysticks in the world couldn't compare to the sensation of real-life G-forces being exerted across your entire body. It felt like he had a safe sitting in his lap, and he suddenly realized that he was drenched in sweat. Still, he knew his craft, and he knew how to use it. His own physical limitations would have to be pushed aside for the time being. He had a job to do.

The droid now winged-over and entered a power dive. Ron followed suit with an aggressive over-the-top move, and was soon screaming earthward at trans-sonic speed. The Harrier was never designed to go this fast, and the airframe began to shudder violently. Kim feared that their wings would shear off, but Ron held steady, his full concentration on the droid in front of him. The droid suddenly pulled up, leveling out its flight path, and Ron cringed, realizing his mistake.

He had over-committed to the dive, and he was going to overshoot the target.

Franticly, he worked the controls. He threw down full-flaps, deployed his airbrakes, chopped throttle and pitched up into a barrel roll. All-in-all, he tried anything he could think of to lose speed.

For a split second, he feared the worst as the droid disappeared from view. If he had indeed slipped in front of the mechanical beast, then he and Kim were both as good as dead.

It was an astonished gasp from behind him that jerked his attention upward. They were flying inverted now, suspended by their harnesses with the darkened sea filling the canopy above them. And there, looming large in the canopy, just a few feet away, was the droid.

The evil machine seemed to regard them as it scanned the pair with optical sensors that served as its eyes. Ron and Kim simply looked back, locked in mutual observation with this technological terror. Then, as if following some sort of aerial choreography, the two craft simultaneously began to barrel roll around each other, bleeding speed, locked in a mutual pirouette at over 700 miles per hour.

For Kim, it felt as though her guts were being run through a blender. She looked up to see alternating views of sea and sky flashing past the canopy above her, all the while with the droid looming large in the foreground. Her stomach was voicing its uncertainty as to its own ability to keep its contents in place, and her throbbing head was calling for a vote on the issue.

Ron would have most likely been one step ahead of her on the stomach front, if he hadn't been so darn busy at the moment. As it was, he found it quite impossible to think of anything other than the task at hand. A smile of guarded optimism began to spread across his face as he saw the droid slowly drifting out in front of them. The laws of physics were on his side tonight, and he intended to make them count.

After three more rolls, the droid passed fully in front of them, and Ron flipped back upright, flicking the selector switch on the control yoke from missiles to guns. He drifted slightly to his right, placing the gun-sight piper directly on the droid, and squeezed the trigger.

The entire aircraft seemed to shudder with the staccato burst of the gatling gun. Tracers streaked off into the darkened sky, each round following its predecessor so closely that the combined effect looked more like a laser than a stream of individual projectiles. Ron's hand was steady, and his aim was true, as the droid's left wing was quickly shredded by the burst of fire.

Pitching over into a death-spiral, the droid plunged downward into the sea, leaving a comet-trail of smoke and flame in its wake.

"Booyah!" came Ron's triumphant cry. "Scratch _two!_"

"Uh, Ron…" Kim called from the rear seat once again. "Not to break-up the party or anything, but what happened to the other one."

"Wha… What are you talking abohhhhh… _taco sauce!_"

Almost as if on cue, warning buzzers screamed throughout the cockpit, and the control panel lit-up like a Christmas tree. Rufus squeaked the warning that they each already knew…

"Incoming!!!" 

Ron's heart sank, as he already knew what this meant. He had committed the cardinal sin of the dogfight: He had allowed himself to become "target fixated," focusing too much on the objective in front of him and neglecting the rest of his surroundings. It seemed strange to him that he had made the error of becoming _too_ focused, when it was normally the other way 'round. However, there was one small detail still to be considered:

_They weren't dead yet._

Working with cat-like reflexes, Ron shoved the stick hard left and kicked right-rudder, sending the Harrier into a violent snap roll. Half-a-second later, the cockpit was flooded with light as a Meteor missile streaked past the canopy, missing by mere inches.

Without pausing to think, working on pure instinct, Ron pulled back on the stick, plunging their craft from its inverted position into a steep, reversing dive. It was a perfect "split-S" maneuver that would have made any fighter jock proud.

"It's still back there, right on our six!" Kim yelled from her position, glancing back over her shoulder at the approaching attacker.

"Good!" Ron responded. "We're gonna let it get closer!"

"_What?_" Kim screamed. "Just who's this _'we'_ that you're talking about, ace-boy?"

"Just trust me on this one, okay!"

The droid was indeed closing the range, working its way into a firing position for its plasma blasters. Ron knew this would happen, given the droid's superior speed, and it was exactly what he wanted. Steadily, he began to count off the seconds…

"One chimmerito…" 

"_Two chimmerito…"_

"_Three chimmerito…"_

"NOW!!!" 

With both hands, he pulled the control stick back so hard that he feared it might snap like a twig. At the same time he adjusted the thrust nozzles downward, using the power of the engine to increase the strength of the turn. This was a tactic he had learned while dog-fighting in the virtual world. It had served him well then, and he prayed that it would work just as well now.

The Harrier pitched hard upwards, pinning the two teens to their seats. Kim felt the oxygen mask ripped from her face by the intense G-forces, but didn't mind, as she was probably going to hurl momentarily, anyway. They both could feel the blood retreating to their lower extremities, and the dizzying fog of a near-blackout briefly swept over them.

The sensation quickly passed, however, as Ron relinquished the turn. The droid had slipped by underneath them, choosing instead to continue its dive, rather than attempt a turn which its silicon brain knew it could not hold.

Once again, Ron rolled back into the path of the droid, falling in on its six o'clock. The droid gunned its engines, opening the range as it streaked downward toward the sea before leveling off at an altitude of only twenty feet.

If there had been any of the region's ubiquitous fishing trawlers in the area at the time, their crews would have been treated to an awesome sight. Two aircraft screaming across the water at wave-top level, each throwing up a rooster tail of salt spray in its wake. Ron did his best to keep up, but the droid's superior horsepower was proving too much. The droid was already well-beyond gun range. Even his one remaining sidewinder didn't have the ability to reach the tin-plated automaton at this point.

He still needed to take a shot, however, as his instincts were screaming that he wouldn't get another chance. There was always the option of simply letting the droid go, but running away didn't seem to be part of this robot's programming. Most likely, it would simply continue to retreat until it had regained the advantage of altitude. Then it would turn back into the fight.

"No," Ron thought. He had to end this _now._ His mind raced through all the tools he had available, quickly settling on the one item which stood a fighting chance of ending this battle, once and for all… The _Sparrows._

Moving like greased lightning, he adjusted his radar settings and pickled one of the four AIM-7s which he had at his disposal. He quickly discovered, however, that the rooster tail being tossed-up by the droid made for an excellent radar counter-measure. He pitched-up slightly, using the increased altitude to gain a better angle of attack. He juked left, then right, searching for an opening. He was almost startled when the electronic tone sounded, alerting him that he had a lock.

"Fox two!" he cried out, as one of the Sparrows streaked away from his right wing.

"Fox three!" he yelled out again, as he followed the first shot with a second one, moments later. He knew this was his only shot at finishing this fight, and he didn't want to take any chances with a potential system malfunction mucking it up.

The two missiles streaked toward their target, the glare of their solid fueled rockets glinting like starbursts against the darkened sea. The first struck the droid's right wing, failing to detonate, but successfully shearing-off a third of its structure.

The Droid banked violently and began to climb, clawing desperately for the safety of altitude.

…It never got the chance.

Moments later, the second missile slammed squarely into the droid's torso, detonating on impact. The night sky was suddenly filled with a brilliant, orange glow, reflecting off the sea, making it difficult to tell where the earth left off and the heavens began. Bits and pieces of flaming debris rained downward, splashing into the surf, creating a cascading cloud of fire that resembled a monumental chrysanthemum blossom. It was a display that would have made any pyro-technician proud.

"Booooo-_yah!_" Ron screamed, pulling his mask down and the stick back, then banking over into a victory roll. "Scratch three bandits! _Manfred von Richthofen, eat your heart out!_"

Kim found herself trying to maintain the delicate balance of gagging and catching her breath simultaneously. Throughout it all, she had somehow managed to keep her lunch intact, but that didn't mean that she wasn't still feeling like the whole of her insides were past their expiration date.

"Well, whadda ya' think, KP?" Ron asked, looking back at his girlfriend, who was just now getting her wits about her.

Kim paused to take stock of herself, making certain that all of her internal organs were still in the appropriate locations.

"I think you're a menace to everything in the air." she finally replied.

"Awwwww… Birds too?" Ron asked with a mock pout.

"Yes, birds too." Kim shot back, a playful smile quickly spreading across her face.

Releasing her harness for the first time since they had taken off, Kim leaned forward in the cockpit, placing her arms around Ron's shoulders and craning her neck to kiss him gently on the cheek.

"Nice work, _flyboy_." she cooed.

"First rule of the dogfight, KP…" Ron replied, puffed-up pride evident in his voice. "Don't pick one with the _Mad Dog._"

Kim chuckled lightly. Ron had earned some minor bragging rights tonight. There was _one_ question that was gnawing at her, however…

"So just where the _heck_ did you learn to fly this thing, anyway?"

"You'll never believe me if I tell you."

"Try me."

"I swear, _you won't believe it!_"

"Spill!" 

"Well, you know how last fall, I got that _Steel Skies_ program for my computer."

"The video game?

"_Flight Simulator_, Kimbo. There's a _big_ difference."

"To-may-to… to-mah-to… So what's your point."

"That's it... That's where I learned."

"You're telling me that you became a top gun by playing video games all day."

"And _somebody_ said video games were a waste of time."

"You're right."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't believe it!" 

And with that, she leaned in to kiss him again.

"Ah, geez… Can't you two wait until you're on the ground and have a room or something?" a voice unexpectedly called out. Neither of the two teens had noticed Wade re-appear on the cockpit video screen.

"Uhhh, that wasn't what it looked like." Ron stammered.

"It sure looked like a membership application for the mile-high club to me." Wade replied with a sly grin.

"**_WADE!!!_"** two young voices cried out in unison, neither one bothering to call a "jinx."

"Alright, alright… calm down you guys." Wade said reassuringly. "I'm just messin' with you."

"I assume there's a reason for this call." Kim inquired, still obviously annoyed by the intrusion.

"Just wanted to let you know that you're now officially bogey-free." Wade responded. "You can resume your previous course at will."

"Thanks, Wade. Rockin' as usual." Kim replied with a sigh.

"Wade out!" the young web master said, signing off with a knowing grin that made Kim somewhat less than comfortable.

"Shall we head for home, then?" Ron asked, already banking the plane toward the first waypoint Wade had sent them.

"Yeah…" Kim sighed, slumping back into her flight seat. "Let's _jet_."

---------

**Author's Notes:**

Like, _WOW_ man! I can't believe that I pounded this whole chapter out in just two evenings! _Theme from "Rocky" starts playing in background_

This chapter is completely unexpected, as it appears nowhere in my original outline. I can assure everyone, however, that I'll be returning to the original plot in earnest with my next chapter.

I've been intrigued by the idea of Ron as a pilot for some time now, and this storyline presented an opportunity that was simply too good to pass up. I realize that it doesn't do much to move the overall plot along, but then again neither did Steinbeck's gopher, so I'm not entirely without precedent here. (For those of you who think I just had a stroke here, pick-up a copy of John Steinbeck's "Cannery Row" and read chapter 31. It'll explain everything.)

_Acronyms Explained:_ Okay, so there was a lot of "alphabet soup" to wade through in this chapter, what with all the military jargon and what not. Here's a quick run-down of what you just read for all those who aren't fluent in random capital letters…

_T/AV-8B Harrier:_ This aircraft is very real. It's an upgraded, twin-seat variant of the original AV-8 Harrier "Jump Jet" which first flew in the summer of 1960. This variant is most often used as a trainer aircraft, but still maintains full-combat capability. Several variations of the Harrier are currently in use by the British Royal Air Force, Royal Navy and the United States Marine Corps. (The British version is designated as the GR-7.)

Vertical Take-Off and Landing (VTOL) is one of the hallmarks of the Harrier's design, and makes this one of the most versatile aircraft in the air today.

Using the adjustable thrust nozzles to aid in turning is a tactic first developed by Harrier pilots of the British Royal Navy during the Falkland Islands War of 1982. It is still taught as part of the training regimen for new Harrier pilots today.

_FLIR:_ (Forward-Looking Infra Red) This is an advanced night-vision system where an enhanced image of a plane's surroundings is projected onto a HUD (Heads-Up Display) screen, mounted in the front of the cockpit. In most versions, it can be used in both navigation and targeting modes.

_AIM-9 Sidewinder:_ This is a short-range, heat-seeking, air-to-air missile, which was first used by the American military during the Vietnam War. Updated versions of this weapon are still used by all branches of the American military and NATO.

_AIM-7 Sparrow:_ A radar-guided cousin to the Sidewinder, this weapon also saw its first deployment during the conflict in Vietnam. With a greater range than the Sidewinder, the Sparrow belongs to a family of weapons known as AMRAAM. (Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missiles) Together with the long-range AIM-54 Phoenix missile, these weapons form the backbone of American air-to-air combat capability.

_HARM Missile:_ The HARM (High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile) is an air-to-surface weapon designed for use against enemy air defense networks. The weapon will hone in on the source of a radar signal, essentially flying itself down the radar beam and directly into the transmitter.

_GBU-31 Bomb:_ A 2,000-pound smart bomb, guided by global positioning satellites. It belongs to the weapons family known as JDAM. (Joint Direct-Attack Munitions)

_Meteor Missile:_ A tactical AMRAAM missile currently deployed by a consortium of European countries, including The United Kingdom, France, Germany and Italy.

The jamming pods mentioned in the grotto scene are probably ALQ-99 Electronic Warfare Modules. These are normally used to disrupt enemy radar and communications networks, and are most-often deployed with the United States Navy's EA-6B Prowler aircraft.

No, Ron wasn't being wasteful near the end, there. The Sparrow missile is known for its high rate of failure, especially in its early variants. The practice of increasing one's odds by firing multiple missiles at a single target is well established. It's a tactic known a "ripple-firing," and it's been in use by pilots since the early 1970s.

The "split-S" is a classic dog-fighting maneuver, initially developed by pilots during the First World War. Used as a means of reversing direction without loosing speed, it begins when a pilot rolls his plane over onto its back. Then, pulling back on the stick, the pilot dives down, finally leveling out at a point where he is traveling upright, in the opposite direction, and at a lower altitude. The name comes from the fact that when the maneuver is diagrammed out on paper, it resembles the bottom-half of the letter "S."

_Manfred Von Richthofen:_ Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen was the highest-scoring and most infamous fighter pilot of the First World War. Credited with 81 combat kills before he himself was killed in action on April 21, 1918, he is better known to history as "The Red Baron."

The "Sweet Home Alabama" line that Kim delivers after take-off is my own tribute to the movie "Con-Air," and what in my humble opinion is one of the best-delivered movie lines of all-time… _"Define irony: Bunch of idiots on a plane, dancing to a song made famous by a band that died in a plane crash."_ (Long-live Lynyrd Skynard!)

One final hint on the trivia question from way back in chapter one… The golfer in question was known as "The Hawk" for his steely resolve and laser-like concentration on the course. One of the most dominant golfers of the mid 20th century, his success was all the more amazing after a head-on collision with a bus in the winter of 1949. His doctors told him he would most likely never walk again, but barely six months later, still limping from the accident, he won the United States Open Championship in a three-way playoff. He died at home in Fort Worth, Texas on July 24, 1997. He was 84 years old.

As is SOP, I welcome all comments, criticisms, snide remarks and e-mail worms.

Remember to always read responsibly, and I'll catch y'all on the flip side…

Nutzkie…

(Peace, love, recycle, all that jazz…)


	7. Life, Light, Resurrection & Hope

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter Seven**

"Sometimes, irony can be a wonderful thing…"

Those were the words running through Kim Possible's head as she drifted off to sleep. In the past, Ron had always been fond of reminding her that he had her back. In this case, however, the meaning was somewhat more literal than normal.

Ron was lying spooned up against her, his arm draped around her waist, their fingers intertwined. She could feel the beat of his heart from behind her, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

It had been close to midnight before they had finally reached their destination. Ron had found an open field on the outskirts of town where he had been able to set their small plane down. (Boy, was that farmer ever going to be surprised, come morning.) From there, it hadn't been too far a walk to the hostel where Wade had made arrangements for them to stay. The room was small, (Ron had joked that when he stuck their key in the lock, it had gone out the window), but Kim couldn't have been happier if it had been the Palace of Versailles.

She was enjoying the best sleep she had experienced in weeks. It wasn't unusual for her sleep patterns to become sporadic when there was a sitch brewing. The uncertainty of everything had a way of finding her no matter where she was. It was something that would have surprised most people, as they only knew her public persona. To them, she was cool, confident and always in control. They never stopped to think that, at the end of the day, she was just as human as they were, and that she was subject to the very same emotions. Fear, uncertainty and self-doubt were nearly constant companions for her, no matter how masterful she was at concealing them from the world.

None of that mattered, however, when she was with Ron. Falling asleep in his arms, she could let it all go. All the maniacal villains, the exploding lairs, the insanely-complicated schemes and the weird ray-thingies would simply fade away into a misty background, leaving only her and her man. This was her place, a magical spot where she knew nothing could ever hurt her, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.

This was perhaps the greatest irony of all, for who in their right mind would have ever imagined that Kim Possible, the great teen hero, had a hero of her own.

Although she wasn't aware of it, Ron had laid awake, watching her drift off to sleep. The look of utter contentment on her face brought him more joy than perhaps she would ever know. This was why he did it, after all. This was the reason why he jumped from airplanes, trudged through swamps, scaled mountains and memorized all eighty-six different varieties of cuddle-buddy. He would do anything to make her happy. That was his one and only wish in life.

There was another reason for his lack of sleep, however: Something that gnawed at him, welling-up from the depths of his soul to haunt his conscious thoughts. He tried to shake it, willing himself to sleep, but there was no escape. Its hold was just too great.

It had started innocently enough with just a quick glance at Wade's digital map: A simple task of checking their position while on final approach. He hadn't expected it, but for half-an-instant, the name of their destination had flashed across the screen.

During their flight they had crossed over the border into Poland, and were now about fifty miles northeast of Warsaw, as near as he could tell. The town seemed average enough, differing little in appearance from any of the other dozen or so villages in the region. Most people wouldn't even give this place a second thought, but for Ron, it plagued him, its sinister name echoing over and over in his mind…

Treblinka. 

The personal war now raging within him was quickly proving futile. As much as his soul burned at the cursed name, he could not help but be drawn to it. There was a distant siren which he could not comprehend, calling him to a place which he could not stand, and yet, could not avoid.

Silently, gingerly, being ever so careful not to wake the sleeping redhead beside him, he got up and moved to the chair in the corner. Slipping into his boots, he took one last, loving look at Kim before exiting. He hated to leave her here, but this was something he had to do on his own. He would never expect her to understand the reasons for this. Only a person of his background could truly comprehend the significance of what he was about to do.

Gliding quietly down the stairs and through the main parlor, he soon found himself standing in the narrow, cobblestone street. Streetlamps cast their dim light about, throwing shadows and mystery into crevices and alleyways. It wouldn't be light out for a few more hours yet, and the brisk, pre-dawn air sent a chill down his spine. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and listening to a tiny voice inside his head. The voice was unfamiliar to him, but it spoke forcefully, compelling him to do its bidding. The voice's instructions were clear…

"Go that way!" 

And so Ron Stoppable started walking down the darkened street, not knowing for certain where he was headed, or even why for that matter. All he knew was that there was something out there in the darkness, waiting for him, calling to him, and he felt compelled to oblige.

--------

Kim Possible awoke with a start, her previously sound sleep having been interrupted by a nightmare. In her dream, Ron had been drifting away from her, carried off into the darkness by some unseen force. She had reached out for him desperately, but he had been just beyond her grasp, and she was unable to save him.

At that moment she had shot up in bed, drenched in sweat and screaming his name, only to discover that in some sense, the dream had been all-too real.

She was alone, and that realization disturbed her to no end. Was she really _that_ emotionally dependent upon him? Did even his momentary absence cause her subconscious mind to panic like some skittish, little schoolgirl?

A better question for the moment, perhaps, was the question of _where the heck was he, anyway?_

"_He could be in the bathroom._" She thought to herself. The hostel they were staying in was an older building with several second-floor rooms sharing a common washroom at the end of the hall. She quickly dismissed this idea, however, when she leaned over to discover that his side of the bed was cold, indicating that it had been unoccupied for some time.

A new wave of panic suddenly washed over her, and her heart began to race. Something ferociously serious must have happened for Ron to just up-and-leave without telling her. In the blink of an eye, she had grabbed the Kimmunicator from the top of the dresser, and was repeatedly pushing the call button.

"Whoa… easy there, Miss Anxious." Wade said as his familiar image flashed onto the screen. "What's cooking over there?"

"I need a trace and I need it yesterday." Kim replied flatly, her "mission-mode" tone quickly taking over.

"Okay… Care to be more specific?" Wade replied.

"It's Ron. You do still have him chipped, right?"

"Kim… We've been over this a dozen times already." Wade explained. "Tagging someone without their consent raises a laundry list of ethical issues. There's privacy rights, health risks, figuring out how to change the batteries…"

"Yeah, yeah!" Kim snapped back. "Just answer the question, already!"

"Affirmative." Wade shrugged dejectedly.

"Good! Then run the trace and save the speech!"

Wade worked with his characteristic efficiency, and within moments he had a lock on Ron's location.

"Got it! He's a little over a mile away from your current position." Wade replied when the trace was complete. "Sending coordinates now."

"Totally spankin', Wade! I owe you one."

With that, Kim closed the connection and shoved the Kimmunicator into the hip pocket of her olive-green cargo pants. Moving quickly, she laced up her boots and shouldered her backpack. She didn't know why Ron was out and about at this ungodly hour, but she was going to find out.

Then, situation depending, she'd kick his biscuit.

--------

The first hints of dawn were beginning to illuminate the eastern sky as Kim jogged to a stop along a desolate stretch of road on the outskirts of town. She had made good time to this point, although she desperately needed to catch her breath.

According to Wade's trace, Ron should be somewhere nearby.

After pausing a few moments to recuperate from the run she had just made, she scanned the immediate area, taking stock of her surroundings. A low-hanging fog shrouded the countryside, creating an effect that resembled something out of a grade-B horror flick. The landscape was most definitely rural here, consisting of rolling fields and the occasional farmhouse. Immediately ahead of her, just past a bend in the road, lay an open meadow.

The pastoral scene was downright serene, evoking images of an impressionist painting. The thought crossed her mind that this would be a nice place for a picnic later in the day, once the fog burned off of course. Then, through the wisps of morning mist, she caught sight of something else. It was a familiar-looking silhouette: A silhouette with a cowlick and goofy, big ears.

Ron was standing along the side of the road, staring blankly at the meadow before him. He wasn't moving, standing like a statue, seemingly rooted in the gravel that lined the roadside. Although Kim could not see anything of particular interest from her position, something about this field had definitely captured Ron's undivided attention.

Kim started moving toward him, but for reasons unknown to her, suddenly stopped. Something about this sitch was off the map, and she felt the impressive need to call Wade once again.

"Hey Kim. You find him yet?" Wade asked upon answering Kim's call.

"Yep, that's affirmative." Kim replied. "But I think our boy got up on the weird side of the bed this morning."

"What seems to be the problem?" came Wade's concerned reply.

"I don't know." Kim responded. "He's just standing there, staring at… nothing."

"Hmmmmm…" Wade said, obviously just as confused by Ron's behavior as Kim was. "Let me check something real quick."

There was a brief pause while Wade briskly ran his fingers across the maze of keyboards that sat in front of him.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You're not gonna believe this, Kim."

"Try me."

"Well, I re-calculated Ron's position to get a more definite fix, then I cross-referenced that against topographical and political maps of the area."

"Yeah… Point?"

"Kim, you're in a town called Treblinka."

"Uh-huh… So what about it?" Kim asked impatiently.

"Kim, Treblinka was the location for one of the camps." Wade replied with a knowingly-raised eyebrow.

"Huh? What do you mean cam…" was all she was able to get out before she was floored by a lightning bolt of realization and her jaw hung slack.

"So… this… field… is…" she was finally able to stammer after several moments of silence.

Wade just silently nodded his head in confirmation.

Suddenly, Kim felt very dizzy, and the fog which shrouded the landscape seemed to swirl and coalesce around her. Just moments before, she had been thinking this was a good spot for a picnic. Now, the mere sight of this real estate made her nauseous. This was a truly wicked place. The ground itself seemed to ooze evil.

Ron still stood transfixed by the roadside. He was gazing at not just a piece of land, but at time itself. Looking back through the decades, he could see what once was; the guard towers, the barbed wire fences, the gashouse with the Star of David adorning the apex of its roof in a half-hearted effort to conceal the true nature of the facilities here.

He knelt down, running his fingers through the grass, which grew just beyond the gravel shoulder of the road. A light breeze arose, rustling the grass and ever-so-slightly flicking his blond bangs. It beckoned him forward, subduing any fear or trepidation that he may have felt.

Rising to his feet once again, he bowed his head and closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer in Hebrew. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the yarmulke, which he had worn to temple every Saturday morning since his childhood. He had stuffed it into his pocket before leaving Middleton the previous day, almost as an afterthought, and not knowing exactly why he was doing so at the time. It was as if some deeply-rooted instinct had been telling him that he would find use for it on this mission, and now that instinct was becoming just a bit more clear.

Lightly kissing the clean, white linen, he placed it neatly atop his head. Then, taking a deep breath, he stretched his arms out from his sides, and took a step forward.

The light breeze blew once again as he gradually made his way forward. Moving slowly, deliberately, he edged farther and farther from the road, toward a low hill at the far edge of the field.

Kim could only watch in stunned silence. From her vantage point, it was as if Ron was walking amongst the souls of his people. It was a moment of spiritual bonding that only a person with such a direct link to this place could fully appreciate.

She walked forward, but stopped in the gravel short of the field. It was not her place to set foot on this ground, she reasoned. It was not her ancestors who had suffered and died here. For Ron, this was a sacred place, and she had no claim to it.

Ron needed this moment alone, she thought to herself, and she would let him have that. After all that he had ever done for her, this was the least she could do for him.

As the eerie spectacle played out before her, Kim's mind flashed to the images she had seen in the cursed book just a few nights before. This was where it had happened, after all. Here, and at dozens of similar locations across the continent: A massive network of transportation systems, staging areas, bureaucratic regulations and death, of which this place was just a small part. It wasn't just what the holocaust represented, after all, but the sheer scale of the undertaking that made it so terrifying. With the level of resources that the Nazis had poured into their efforts, it was amazing that they hadn't succeeded.

That thought brought about a jolt in Kim that nearly knocked her to the ground. Her head swam with a single, overriding question.

One of the perks of growing-up in a household with a rocket-scientist father and super-genius brothers was a near constant exposure to all-things technological, and Kim was aware of the "wonder weapons" which the Nazis had produced.

There were jets and rocket planes, advanced radar and guidance systems. There were the world's first cruise missiles and ballistic missiles, and even first-generation stealth technology. There was a functional nuclear weapons program nearly two years before America's "Manhattan Project." There were even blueprints for an orbital "space bomber;" something that her father assured her was a good twenty years ahead of even current technology.

And so the question wrenched her mind and her gut alike, demanding an answer that she was either unable, or unwilling, to fathom.

"What if Hitler had won?" 

The answer was excruciating to even consider. It drew up images of a world consumed by darkness: a world without freedom, without joy, without hope. A world without… _Ron._

It seemed strange to her that of all these images, this was the one that disturbed her the most. It reached down into her and struck a chord within the deepest recesses of her soul, resonating its way throughout her entire being. While the thought of losing him was unbearably painful, the prospect of never having known him at all was beyond comprehension. To have never found him… to have never known his beautiful soul… to have never experienced his joyful sense of child-like wonder: This was a world and a fate worse than any other which she dared conceive of. For Ron to have never even existed: that was the ultimate evil.

By now, Ron was nearing the top of the hill, each step bringing with it a fresh wave of emotions. The awe-inspiring sense of loss was almost palpable, and it threatened to overwhelm him. There were feelings of sadness, anger, resentment, frustration, and a strange thirst for some sort of vengeance.

There was also another emotion, however, welling up from the depths, slowly at first, then building until it overcame all other feelings he may have harbored. It buoyed his spirit, and without realizing it, he quickened the pace of his walk.

It was a sense of triumph. A realization that in spite of everything that had happened here, they had not succumbed. His people had been victorious, and his very presence here served as ample proof of that fact.

As he finally crested the hill, the sun rose above the horizon for the first time that day, quickly burning off the fog which had surrounded him. He felt the warming glow upon his face, and he involuntarily lifted his arms above his head in a sign of victory. He was a living conduit for the souls of six million people, and in some small way, they would always live on through him.

The sun was fully up by the time he returned to the roadside, and Kim could tell by the stains on his cheeks that he had been crying. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find her waiting for him. Kim always seemed to have an uncanny ability to track him down. He occasionally wondered to himself if Wade didn't have him "bugged" in some way.

He stepped off the grass and into Kim's waiting embrace. Neither of them said anything at first. No words were needed. Then, after several seconds, Kim broke the silence.

"You okay, sweetie?" was her simple inquiry.

"Yeah… tip-top." Ron replied, reassuringly. "Sorry 'bout ditching you back at the room, there."

"No big." Kim said in a reassuring tone of her own. "I understand."

She knew this was a lie. Not being Jewish, she could never hope to fully understand the significance of this place, or at least not in the same way that Ron did. There was a deep, personal connection at work here that she was simply not privileged to.

"You're _sure_ you're all right?" she inquired again.

"Trust me, I'm _fine_." he said, lowering his gaze thoughtfully for a moment. He seemed to ponder something else, then turned to face the cursed field once more.

"You know, it's kind of funny when you think about it." he thought aloud. "With all the evil that took place here, it ultimately represents victory."

Kim glanced at Ron with a quizzical look, not certain as to what he was getting at. He responded with a sideways glance and a tender, knowing smile.

"I'm standing here, aren't I?" he said, raising an eyebrow, and noticing the look of comprehension that quickly shot across Kim's face.

With that remark, he threw back his shoulders and stood at full attention, facing this most wicked of places straight on. Brashly, he threw a clenched fist into the air.

"Do you hear that, you jerks?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. _"Ich bin ein Jude!"_

And with that parting remark, Ron simply turned up the road and started walking back toward town with Kim following close behind.

--------

They were almost to the city limits when Kim finally broke the silence.

"You're absolutely _sure_ you're okay with all this?" she inquired again.

"Yes, KP. I'm _totally_ sure that I'm okay!" he said with an exasperated tone. "This was just something that I needed to do, alright."

"Okay, okay… I'm just making sure is all." Kim said defensively, now trying to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.

"So, when we get back to our room…"

"You mean our _closet?_" Ron interjected.

"C'mon Ron, it's not _that_ small."

"Kim… there isn't even room for a complaint in there."

"Alright, fine! So it's small!" Kim finally conceded. "I was going to ask if you wanted to grab some breakfast once we got back."

At the mention of food, Ron's oversized ears perked up.

"Badical idea, KP!" came his enthusiastic reply. "I can totally see why you're the leader of this team." He pointed both his index fingers at her in a "gunfighter" salute.

"Spankin'!" Kim smiled back. "Then let's not be slowpokes about it. We've also still got a ride to catch, after all."

And with that the two teens quickened their pace, walking hand-in-hand toward the now waking village, the smell of fresh-baked strudel growing ever stronger in their noses.

--------

**Author's Notes:**

Originally, I wasn't expecting to get this chapter out until the end of the week, but a sudden bout of stomach flu sidelined me at home for the last three days with nothing else to do, so here it is. (…Always a silver lining, eh?)

I chose the town of Treblinka as a setting for some very specific reasons. By all accounts, the camp here was one of the most prolific of the entire Nazi network. With an estimated body count ranging from 800,000 to 1.4 million, it's second only to the mega-complex at Auschwitz-Birkenau. To spite this impressive record, however, little to nothing remains of the camp, which was destroyed by forces of the German Waffen-Schutzstaffel in the late autumn of 1943, as advance elements of the Soviet Red Army approached from the east.

This pastoral openness was something that I found very useful here, as I wanted Ron's experience to be more spiritual in its nature, and not be distracted from by complex surroundings such as buildings or infrastructure. Purists will no doubt point out that there is, in fact, a small-scale memorial at the site. However, for the sake of the story, I chose to place our heroes a short distance away from this point. This is still within the boundaries of the camp, mind you, but away from any visual distractions.

German "wonder weapons" are a well-documented reality. On August 27, 1939, Luftwaffe pilot Erich Warsitz became the first person to ever fly a jet aircraft when he took to the air in the Heinkel He-178. In August of 1944 the Messerschmitt Me-262 "Schwalbe" became the first jet aircraft to enter combat service. The honor of the world's first jet bomber also belongs to the Luftwaffe in the form of the Arado Ar-234 "Blitz."

First-generation stealth technology was invented with the Horton Ho-229, a twin-jet flying wing design that first flew in December of 1944. Following the war, an intact Ho-229 was captured by American forces and shipped back to the United States for study. Decades later, engineers from the Northrop-Grumman Corporation would use information gathered from these studies as a design basis for the B-2 "Spirit" Stealth Bomber.

German rocket planes included the high-speed Messerschmitt Me-163 "Komet" and the Bachem Ba-349 "Natter," although the latter of these was really little more than a piloted surface-to-air missile.

The V-1 "Fieseler" was used against British cities between June of 1944 and March of 1945, and represents the world's first cruise missile. The more-advanced V-2 "Aggregat" is the world's first ballistic missile, having been first deployed on September 8, 1944. The "V" prefix in both cases stands for "Vergeltungswaffe," meaning "Vengeance Weapon."

The early German lead in atomic weapons is also well-documented. German physicists Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassmann became the first persons to ever split an atom on December 17, 1938. By 1942, the Nazis had a bona-fide atomic weapons program established at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute under the direction of Werner Heisenberg. Although it is doubtful that German industrial capacity could have ever produced the amount of enriched uranium needed for a working weapon, the prospect presented by this information is none-the-less sobering.

The Antipodal Space Bomber was a ground-launched orbital spacecraft designed by German aerospace engineer Eugene Sanger. Although it never progressed past early wind tunnel tests, elements of its design were later incorporated by American engineers into the Space Shuttle.

Ron's parting shot of _"Ich bin ein Jude"_ translates to "I am a Jew." It seemed to pretty much sum-up the whole sitch into a neat, one-sentence package.

We're coming into the home stretch here, people. Only one more chapter to go, hopefully tying up a few loose ends and bringing some closure to our favorite duo. Looking back, I can't believe what this story has turned into, nor the response I have received. I thank everyone for their wonderful comments. Never in a million years would I have ever expected such a reaction.

As always, comments are welcome, and we thank you for your support!

Catch ya'll on the flipside,

_Nutzkie…_


	8. Of Hidden Heroes & Full Disclosure

_Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun: _

_As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!_

**Chapter Eight**

"_I can do this!"_

"_I've swam the English Channel."_

"_I've climbed Mount Everest."_

"_I've dog-sledded across the artic circle."_

"_I've aced the regional cheer finals."_

"_This is no big."_

"Then why are my palms wet and my mouth dry?" 

For Kim Possible, this was an all-too-familiar dilemma. A non-sequitur sort of paradox for which there seemed no logical explanation. After all, she faced-down super-villains and disarmed doomsday devices on an almost weekly basis, usually without so much as batting an eye or breaking a sweat.

The judgment of her peers, however, struck terror into her very soul. Be it the school talent show, asking Josh Mankey to a dance, or going on American Starmaker to foil Drakken's brain-washing plot, there was just something about subjecting herself to criticism that set her heart to racing in a way that nothing else could.

She looked up from the clutch of papers she was holding only to lock gazes with over two-dozen other sets of eyes, each one boring into her, injecting toxic venom into her heart and wishing her doom.

She closed her eyes, desperately searching for some mental image that would calm her nerves and allow her to concentrate. She needed to think of something soothing; something relaxing.

The plane ride back from Europe had been pretty relaxing. After taking off from Warsaw, they had been unexpectedly bumped up to first class. Apparently the airline had discovered that they were on board, and had recognized them as the pair who had managed to save one of their Europe-bound planes the year before by jerry-rigging a navigational compass out of gift-shop trinkets. The extra legroom and complimentary beverages just seemed to scream "thank-you."

During the flight, Ron had spent a great deal of time answering the seemingly endless list of questions that Kim had regarding the Holocaust. Between bags of peanuts, he had explained how it all started with a strong under-current of anti-Semitism that existed throughout Europe in the nineteen twenties and thirties. The Nazis didn't create this, but rather, simply chose to capitalize on it. They were more opportunists than anything else, in this respect.

The slaughter itself had begun on a rather small scale with the creation of German military units called "Einzatsgruppen," or "Death Groups." These were little more than roaming execution squads, traveling from town to town in newly captured territories and using firing squads to do away with Jews and other "undesirable" elements of society.

These methods proved problematic, however, as the results they produced were painfully slow in coming, and took an enormous psychological toll on the troops involved. With this in mind, the Nazis set about increasing efficiency and making the killing more humane, not for the victims, but for the killers.

There were some experiments using busses as gas chambers, their exhaust being re-routed into the passenger compartments, but such efforts failed to yield the results desired by the German high command.

They finally struck on what would ultimately become known as the "Final Solution" at a small town in southern Germany, just a few miles northwest of Munich.

It was at the town of Dachau that the Nazis perfected their craft of mass-murder into a science, and infused it with a mechanized efficiency unseen since the days of Henry Ford. The whole operation was well-organized, streamlined, and would ultimately become the model on which all other camps would be based. It was here that, in an effort to make the barbarity more palatable to the public at large, the slogan _"Arbeit Macht Frei"_ was first adopted. It meant "Work Will Set You Free," and it was part of an attempt to sell the entire system as a network of labor camps, rather than the death factories that they really were.

All-in-all, the road to the "Final Solution" had been a gradual one, slowly evolving over a period of several years. So slowly, perhaps, that it may have even gone unnoticed by many people. People too concerned with the comings and goings of their everyday lives to pay attention to such things.

Ron's stories answered, at least from a mechanical perspective, the question she had asked her mother on that dreadful night several days ago: The night she had first read the book her father had given her. But understanding the mechanics was a far cry from understanding the larger question of "how." How could ordinary people be capable of such monumental horror? And even more chilling, if these were truly ordinary people, then did everyone carry this capacity for cruelty somewhere inside of themselves?

This thought sent a shiver down her spine. The implications of its potential answer were almost beyond comprehension.

Her mother was right, she had finally admitted to herself. There were some questions that simply had no answers. But, she resolved, that fact would never stop her from asking them just the same. The alternative, she realized, was allowing society to forget, and that would be an injustice greater than any which had preceded it.

"_Head in the game!"_ a small voice from within her suddenly shouted, snapping her out of "flashback" mode.

Kim's eyes once again returned to the piercing, judgmental glares of her classmates. Mr. Barkin sat at the back of the room with his arms folded across his chest, his own expression showing a growing level of impatience.

"Let's move this along, Possible." Barkin growled. "I want to have this disappointment parade over and done with by oh-nine-fifty, _copy?_"

"Roger that, sir!" Kim snapped back, her nerves now more rattled than ever. She _had_ to get herself centered. She just _had_ to calm down. She glanced nervously to the back of the room, her emerald eyes scanning from side to side, before coming to rest on a familiar mop of blonde hair.

Ron simply smiled and flashed her a casual "thumbs-up" sign, and all at once the weight of tension that had been afflicting her was lifted from her shoulders. Here was the one person in the world who wouldn't judge her: The one person who didn't care if she misspoke, or stumbled on her sentences, or mispronounced a word here and there.

Kim heaved a silent sigh as she felt the fear and trepidation flowing away from her. Her mind briefly raced back to the day she and Ron had first met in preschool. She had been surrounded by a group of bullies during recess, and Ron had stood up to them, incurring their wrath in the process. At this point, she had begun to walk away, but then inexplicably turned back into the fray, ultimately dishing out a whole heaping helping of justice to the aggressors.

Most people would be quick to point out that it was, in fact, Kim who had saved Ron that day, but that was ignoring the fact that she would have never found the courage to take action if Ron hadn't stepped up to the plate first.

Without even knowing her from anyone else, he had protected her back, and in doing so had inspired her to accomplish things that she would have never have even otherwise attempted. It was just what he had always done, and now by his presence, he was doing so again.

Her fear now subsided and her spirit refreshed, Kim cleared her throat and began to speak.

--------

Kim's performance that afternoon could only be described as "typically flawless." She rolled quickly through her report, chronologically listing Ron's relatives, pausing every so often to explain the significance of a particular individual's contributions or give some historical background about the location or era in question. As was expected, the segment on the mid-twentieth century drew a reaction of shock and whispering from the class. Several students even went so far as to glance in Ron's direction. Ron's only response to this attention, however, was a shrug and a dismissive tilt of his head. This wasn't what he wanted to be known for around campus, and by letting it roll-off his back in this way, he hoped to render it a non-issue from the start.

As Kim wrapped-up her report with a brief description of Ron's family today, the familiar sounds of shifting desks and whispered conversations returned to the room. Mr. Barkin began to scribble notes in his grade book, but Kim had other ideas.

"Uh, Mr. Barkin…" she inquired. "There's one more thing I'd like to say."

Barkin stopped writing and looked up from the notebook in front of him, regarding the red-headed cheerleader before him.

"Ohhhhh-kaaaaaay… permission granted, but make it quick." He said, grudgingly.

Clearing her throat once more, Kim spoke, this time in a much more somber and philosophical tone than before.

"During the course of this report, I learned many things," she said. "But one thing stands out among all the others."

"I learned that there is a great darkness which lies within all people. We may not be aware of its presence, having learned many years ago to skillfully conceal it, burying it deep within ourselves, away from the light of day and away from our own consciousness. But it is there none-the-less, stewing, simmering, waiting for the right circumstances to bring it to the surface; waiting to be unleashed into the world once more."

"It is a darkness which corrupts all that it touches, compelling even the most ordinary of people to commit the most unspeakable of atrocities. It is the source of man's inhumanity toward man. It is an omnipresent shadow that envelopes us all within its unfathomable depths."

She paused briefly for dramatic effect, then continued.

"But where there is shadow, there is always light, and there are those individuals who choose to embrace the light, fighting back against the darkness which surrounds them. They carry the light aloft like a torch, illuminating the world for all others to see, and rendering that world a better place for their efforts.

She paused once again, this time looking directly at Ron, locking eyes with him to make sure he understood whom she was speaking of.

"These are the true heroes." Kim continued. "They may not get their pictures in the papers, or have high-end fashion designers copying their styles. They may become lost in the background, ignored and overlooked by the masses, denied any of the adulation that is so constantly heaped upon those fortunate few who find it their place to dance within the spotlight of recognition."

"Their daily struggle against the darkness, however, is a far greater accomplishment than any dramatic rescue or world-saving feat. Each breath they inhale, every step they take, each morning that they get out of bed is an act of outright defiance against the darkness. Their very existence serves not only as a constant reminder of that darkness, but as a beacon of hope, proving beyond any doubt that the darkness can be conquered, and that the light of the human spirit, the better angels of our nature, will ultimately prevail."

The class sat in stunned silence as Kim neatly closed the report cover she was holding and strode back to her seat, dropping the report on Mr. Barkin's desk as she passed. As usual, she had clinched an "A," but this time she was more satisfied about having articulated the thoughts which had been lying jumbled about inside her head for the past several days. It was a moment of catharsis for her, and she was going to savor it.

The remainder of class went off as smooth as silk. Ron's report on the Rockwaller clan, was clear and concise, with more than a few thinly-veiled jabs thrown in for good measure. He had gotten an especially good rise from the class when he revealed that several members of the family had served time in English debtors' prisons. In his own, typically colorful way, Ron had described them as being so poor that "on Christmas Day, they sat around the tree and exchanged glances." If Bonnie could have willed herself to spontaneously combust at that moment, Kim was sure she would have.

Eventually, the bell sounded its merciful tone, and the young couple found themselves once again in the hallway, walking toward their lockers. As was standard procedure, at least as far as Ron was concerned, the topic of conversation quickly turned to their upcoming lunch period.

"Man, I am so ferociously _psyched!_" he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. "Cheese pizza day totally _rocks!_"

"I'm aware of your love for pizza," Kim replied with a tone of indignation. "But it's cardboard caff pizza."

"Ah, ah, ahhhhh…" Ron shot back. "Cheese on cardboard…"

"…Is still cheese, I know." Kim completed. "But it's also still cardboard. Doesn't it at all bother you that the stuff is, like, beyond gorchy."

"Gorchy?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't that the word you made up back when we were six?"

"I did _not _make it up!" Kim insisted, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her.

"_Kiiiiiiimmm…_"

"Alright, fine! So I made it up! Sue me, already!" she finally relented.

"Booyah! Score one for the Ronster!" Ron sang, licking his finger and drawing an imaginary tally in the air.

The pair walked in silence for several seconds before Ron spoke again.

"By the way, that was pretty badical what you said back there." he finally said.

"Said what back where?" Kim inquired.

"That speech you gave at the end of your report."

"Oh, that… It was no big. Really." she replied dismissively.

"Did you really mean all of that?"

"More than you'll ever know." she replied, half-muttering the sentence under her breath.

It was at that moment that Kim suddenly realized the truth in what she had just said. He really didn't know just how she felt about him. The whole speech about "hidden heroism" and "embracing the light" was all good, and what not, but it had painted a picture in broad, generalized strokes. It did nothing to convey her own personal thoughts and emotions. It said nothing about just how strongly she depended upon him, how she couldn't imagine her life without him.

She had nearly been denied the opportunity to tell him these things that night at Dementor's seaside lair, and she now resolved that it was a mistake she would not make again. With the speed of a jackrabbit, she grabbed Ron by the arm and swung him into a nearby janitor's closet, herself quickly following and closing the door behind.

"Uhhh, I like your thinking here, KP, but I kinda think I've had my fill of Barkin's detention for this month." Ron stammered, a worried look upon his face.

"Amp down, Ron." Kim said, reassuringly. "Making out isn't what I had planned."

"_Eeep…" _Ron squeaked, his eyes suddenly doubling in size as he swallowed hard.

"Mind out of the gutter, ya' big pervo!" Kim chided, sensing his sudden discomfort. "_That's_ not what I had in mind, either."

"Ummmm… I wasn't thinking that." Ron insisted

"Tscha… You were _sooooo_ thinking that." Kim shot back.

"Meh… Fair 'nuff."

"The reason I dragged you in here," Kim explained, "is because we need to talk."

The nervous look suddenly returned to Ron's face, and Kim quickly realized what she had just said. When taken literally, the phrase "we need to talk" really meant nothing more than that. In this context, however, the words carried with them a load of emotional baggage that could strike fear into even the sturdiest of souls.

"Wait… wait… that didn't come out right." Kim stammered, waving her hands defensively in front of her. "What I meant was…"

"That there's some serious things which we need to discuss in private." Ron completed, sensing Kim's discomfort.

"Yeah, that's it… exactly." Kim sighed.

Ron stepped toward the corner of the closet, returning quickly with a pair of empty mop buckets. He turned the items upside-down on the floor, giving each of them a place to sit.

"Soooooo… What's on your mind?" he inquired after taking his seat.

Kim was about to speak when her voice froze within her throat. She suddenly realized that she, in fact, had no idea what she was about to say. Try as hard as she might, she just couldn't find the words that would allow her to express her feelings.

She couldn't find the words, she finally realized, because the words simply did not exist. In all of the English language, there were no words strong enough, no words powerful enough, to adequately express what she felt for this wonderful young man sitting before her. The psychological and emotional connection she felt toward him went beyond mere words, entering into a realm where language itself ceased to have any function. Her own vocabulary was doomed to fail her in this sitch. It was an impossible task.

Or, at least it was for most people.

All at once, Kim's fists clenched and her resolve instantly hardened. She would find a way to tell him, and that was that. She would finally convey her deepest feelings and emotions to him. She would tell him just how much she loved him, how he completed her, how he made her who she was. She would tell him how she needed him to be there for her, with her, forever and always. Even if she had to make-up an entire language, she would find a way to make him understand. After all, she was Kim Possible…

…_She could do anything!_

**_ FINI _**

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**Author's Notes:**

Sorry about taking so long with the final installment, here. I had a professional project that took precedence for a while, then a hard drive crash put my machine into the shop for three days. I'm just now digging my way out of the informational stone-age I was in for a while.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone for all the wonderful reviews I received regarding this story. Your enthusiastic comments and suggestions kept my own interest in the story from flagging, and in this way actually contributed to its very completion.

When I first started writing Shadows of Angels, it was little more than an idea that I had been casually kicking around inside my head for close to a year. To be honest, at the time I thought there was maybe a 50 chance that I'd even maintain my own interest in the project long enough to finish it. Now, when I go back and read my own work, I'm totally amazed by what the story has turned into, and the reader reaction amazes me all the more.

Sadly, It doesn't look like I will be writing much in the foreseeable future. My personal plate is about to become a lot more full, plus I'm now faced with the possibility of changing jobs soon. All-in-all, there's not going to be much room left on the ol' schedule for writing. There's a couple of ideas for one-shot stories still rattling about inside my head right now, and with any luck I'll find the time to quickly bang them out. Beyond that, however, we probably won't be hearing much from each other.

On a final note, since nobody ventured a guess, the answer to the trivia question in chapter one is… (Drum roll, please)

Ben Hogan

Although fellow golfer Lee Trevino is often credited with the saying, "I'd rather be really lucky than really good," Trevino was, in fact, quoting Hogan. Hogan simply had the misfortune of playing in an era before network television broadcasts were there to immortalize player's speeches.

Anyhoooo… I can't express enough how much I've enjoyed writing this story. I can only hope that you enjoyed reading it just as much. Take care of yourselves, and remember…

When you're walking down the street, always keep a big smile on your face. You'll be surprised at how many people will come up to you and say: _"What's so funny?!"_

Tah-tah for now,

Nutzkie…


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